Occam's Razor
by Damagoed
Summary: Sometimes the simplest explanation is the correct explanation. Sherlock & John and a little bit of Mycroft and LeStrade. No Hamsters were harmed in the writing of this story.
1. Chapter 1

It was very hard to look dignified when out of three people in a room, two were wearing exquisitely tailored suits and you were the one wearing a West Ham towel.

"Good Afternoon Dr. Watson." Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Mycroft. Hello." He had the distinct impression the elder Holmes brother was taking more than a professional interest in his nipples. "Sherlock, there's...stuff in the bath."

"Stuff? That six years at Medical School was time well spent wasn't it John?"

"Stuff. Or to be more precise the digestive tract of a male aged approximately 45 years. In the bath!" John knew in spite of his best efforts he was turning pink under Mycroft's continued scrutiny.

"A digestive tract? Really Sherlock."

"Is that not good then?"

"No that's very much not good!"

"That's very bad English Dr Watson." Mycroft had moved from the dining table to the sofa. John really hoped it wasn't for a better view of his legs.

"So I am speaking English then? You do understand? There are body parts in the bath."

"And what conclusion do you draw from that John?" Sherlock asked, obviously glad of a break from arguing with Mycroft.

"That you are an Inconsiderate Bastard. And I'm using the en-suite shower in your room." John's furious exit was ruined slightly by his towel nearly falling off. He turned a rather fetching shade of crimson and stomped out of the living room.

"Rather has a temper doesn't he? Does he still have that gun?" Mycroft licked his lips.

"Yes Mycroft. He does."

"Doctor, Bodyguard, Tea-boy, armed and dangerous. All in one conveniently sized package."

"I saw him first."

"You just keep telling yourself that Sherlock."

"I hate you."

"I know. Goodbye."

He glowered at the door for a good ten minutes after Mycroft had made his exit. Then with a sigh he reluctantly set about removing the digestive tract from the bath.


	2. Chapter 2

John was looking into a box that contained a good £4000 worth of Saville Row Tuxedo. And a midnight blue Waistcoat and Bow-tie. He was confused. The accompanying letter did nothing to dispel that confusion. The thick cream envelope had unfamiliar Copperplate handwriting addressing him: _Dr. J.H. Watson_.

_Dear Dr. Watson,_

_It is a matter of the utmost importance that requires your assistance and expertise. Please wear the accompanying suit and be ready for 6pm today. My driver will collect you from the surgery. Need I say that this is of National significance and requires your absolute discretion? Do not tell anybody, especially not Sherlock. Lives may be at stake._

_Believe me to be most sincerely yours_

_Mycroft Holmes._

The suit was very expensive. And a perfect fit, perhaps the trousers were a little bit tighter than he would have normally picked, but it was like they had been made for him. He walked out into the Surgery reception at five to six.

"Oh my God, It's James Bond!" Sarah shrieked whilst there was an unsubtle "Phwoar!" from one of the girls on the desk.

"Does this look okay?"

"John you look... Oh my God!" Sarah kissed him. Actually kissed him. He blushed. She did it again.

And a large black car pulled up outside.

Sherlock was in a foul mood. John should have been home hours ago. He'd made him his favourite dinner, Cornish Pasty, Chips and Beans. Well okay Mrs Hudson had helped a bit. A lot. Well Sherlock had bought the stuff and she'd cooked it for him. He picked up his phone.

SMS: Where are you John? SH

SMS: Had to work late. Sorry. JW

SMS: No you didn't. SH

SMS: At Sarah's. JW

SMS: No you're not. SH

SMS: Really can't talk. JW

Then a horrible thought occurred to Sherlock.

SMS: Mycroft, is John with you? S

SMS: Don't be ridiculous. M

SMS: That is not an answer. S

SMS: I don't know what you mean. M

SMS: If John is with you I will remove your Spleen through your nose with a potato masher. S

SMS: What on earth is a potato masher? M

Sherlock threw his phone at the wall. It bleeped feebly and expired.

John Watson's confusion had returned. Rather than some clandestine government mission requiring a Doctor with Military combat training, which is what he had thought might be going on, Mycroft appeared to have taken him to Covent Garden. To the Opera. Now John didn't mind the Opera. Not really. And he was on his fourth glass of Champagne. Which Mycroft kept topping up. And John was a bit pissed, and so was Mycroft. And they had a private box.

John was still expecting a Russian Countess to appear with Missile launch codes in her earrings long in to the third act. She never showed, however, halfway through act four Mycroft's hand on John's knee put in an appearance. And at that point the very obvious that had eluded him for most of the day had sauntered in through the haze of Champagne.

He was on a date. He was on a date, at the Opera. With Mycroft. Who of course was Sherlock's brother. Sherlock's brother who had his hand on his knee. Sherlock would kill them both.

"Mycroft what are you doing?"

"I would think it was quite obvious Dr Watson." The hand tiptoed higher.

"Do you know how ridiculous calling me Dr Watson sounds? Just look where your hand is." John had started to go a bit red. Again.

"You do know how lovely you are when you get angry_ John_?" Mycroft made his name sound like a dirty word.

"I'm very sorry, but you have the wrong idea. I'm not...I mean it's fine really if you are... but I'm not..."

"You really are most adorable John." Mycroft withdrew his hand. "More Champagne?"

John tiptoed in to 221b, absolutely rat arsed at 4am. He promptly tripped over the figure sleeping in front of the door.

"John! You're back."

"Yes. Yes I am. John Watson is back."

"And you are very drunk."

"Why are you sleeping on the floor?"

"I was waiting for you to come home. I made dinner. It's a bit cold now."

"You're very sweet. You're brilliant! You're my best mate! I love you!" He patted Sherlock on the head a few times and then slid down the wall, unconscious.

As Sherlock bent to pick John up he caught the faint smell of Mycroft's Cologne.

"I love you too John" he said and laid John carefully down on the sofa. He said it quietly so John wouldn't hear him.

Then Sherlock pulled on his coat and scarf and pausing only to collect the potato masher from the kitchen, he went to visit his brother.


	3. Chapter 3

To the outside world the two men having breakfast in the leather bound Gentleman's Club looked like old friends. The elder of the two, with reddish brown hair and a dark pinstriped suit, was gently drinking a Bloody Mary as though the noise of his sips were about to bring on a aneurism. The younger was eating what was apparently a slice of toast someone had turned the volume up on.

The conversation however was clearly not friendly, nor was the way the younger man kept looking meaningfully at a stainless steel potato masher which was perched on the arm of his chair.

"Will you please eat that quietly you little shit?"

"No Mycroft, I will not."

"For the love of God Sherlock, nothing happened. You must have seen the state John was in when he got back to Baker Street?"

"A state that was caused by you! And since when have you called him John?"

"Since... Never mind." He tried to push the thought of his hand resting on the Doctor's warm, firm thigh very far to the back of his head.

"Since you took him back to your sumptuous Docklands apartment and had him on the Dining table?"

To his credit the attendant who had just brought a fresh pot of coffee didn't even blink whilst Sherlock shouted that at his brother.

"Sherlock, nothing happened. I do wish you would believe me."

"I've spent thirty five years not believing you why should I start now?"

"Just look at the obvious. Do I look like a man who spent last night in the arms of a delectable war veteran?" Sherlock considered this for a moment. The thing he found most annoying about Mycroft, and it was a fairly extensive list of things that it was top of, was that he could not, nor had he ever, been able to look at his brother and tell anything about him. So he punted.

"No, you look like a man who drank too much, didn't get what he wanted and ate a Kebab with too much Chilli sauce on the way home."

"Well done. Regrettably it seems Doctor Watson is not interested. In fact as I recall he does seem rather friendly with that woman who runs the surgery he works at. What a shame. After all you did see him first."

Whatever reaction Mycroft had been expecting it had not been the fleeting look of heartbreak on his brother's face. It was most unnerving. This expression was quickly replaced with the more familiar look of undiluted hatred Sherlock had mastered aged four months.

"I really hate you." He stood up making as much noise as he could manage, smiling evilly as Mycroft rubbed his temples. "Stop taking things away from me."

And he stormed out, coat flapping behind him, like a disgruntled Raven.

Mycroft noticed Sherlock had left his potato masher behind, which was a shame, as now Mycroft would just have to make sure he returned it to Baker Street, when Sherlock was out of course. And of course when the Doctor was in.


	4. Chapter 4

The flat was so clean and tidy, for a moment John thought they had been burgled. After a quick check to ascertain that his phone, laptop and vintage action man collection was still in the flat he then realised the unthinkable had happened. Sherlock had tidied up.

John had woken to find himself on the sofa, covered in a blanket, still dressed in the expensive tuxedo from the night before. He was a little stiff in the neck from the strange angle of the sofa arms. And he also found himself to be a lot stiff a little lower down. He vaguely recalled a very strange dream involving a Giraffe wearing a bow tie that had been licking him all over and making him drink champagne.

He decided the best course of action for both areas of stiffness was a nice long shower. He assumed Sherlock was out at St. Bart's, possibly beating a corpse with a potato masher if the gap on the utensil rack was anything to go by. Perhaps he'd got bored of using a riding crop?

John had been halfway through his shower when there had been a knock at the door. Not the front door. The door of the flat. Sherlock must have forgotten his keys, although why a man capable of breaking into the Prime Minister's office with nothing but a paperclip and a Barclaycard couldn't just break in to his own flat John did not know.

He opened the door and realised for the second time in 48 hours he was stood in front of Mycroft Holmes wearing nothing but a towel. Mycroft seemed rather pleased about this. John dripped nervously onto the door mat.

"Mycroft! Hi. Sherlock isn't here."

"No matter Dr Watson. I am merely returning your potato masher." Mycroft brandished the offending item and took a couple of steps forwards.

"Why do you have our potato masher?" John took a couple of steps backwards keeping a firm grip on his towel.

"My dear brother was using it to defend your virtue with. He seems to think that I had my wicked way with you last night." John swallowed hard.

"He thinks what? You did tell him what actually happened? Didn't you?"

"Of course I did. But Sherlock never believes me."

John sat down on the sofa, his hung-over head trying to process the information, and paying no attention to Mycroft slipping onto the sofa next to him.

"He's been acting very strangely recently. He tidied the flat up. He made me dinner last night. "

"My God. It's worse than I thought." It was Mycroft's turn to look uncomfortable.

"What is? Do you think he's ill? I could get him to come down to the Surgery for some tests. He doesn't seem ill though."

"No Doctor. I think it is very obvious what is wrong with Sherlock"

"Sorry Obvious? Not to me."

"I think my brother may well be in love with you. It is the simplest explanation." John buried his face in his hands. And it was just as Mycroft had placed a comforting hand on the Doctor's broad, naked shoulder that Sherlock decided to return home.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock's face was a perfect study in aesthetically pleasing outrage. Mycroft had gone a whiter shade of pale. John had gone a redder shade of beetroot.

"Bastard! You complete and utter bastard!"

"Sherlock this isn't what it looks like." Mycroft had stood to face his brother. John had sensibly decided to stay seated in the hope Sherlock would be so angry at Mycroft he wouldn't notice John had no clothes on. It didn't work.

"It is exactly what it looks like! You are trying to seduce my flatmate with fancy clothes and champagne and trips to the opera."

"I am doing nothing of the sort Sherlock."

"Sherlock he was just returning the potato masher."

"I should have known you'd take his side. I thought you were above being bought out by a Sugar Daddy, John. But then it all makes sense. You just like to tease don't you Doctor Watson? Parading around here in a towel. Showing off your muscles and your heroic scars. How is anyone supposed to concentrate with that going on? Even when you have clothes on you may as well be naked. With your cheeky little smile and your cute arse in those tight jeans. Well I hope you and my brother will be very happy as you've obviously got a thing for fat old men." He stormed into his room and slammed the door.

Mycroft and John looked at one another in the ringing silence.

"Good God. He really is in love with me isn't he?" From Sherlock's room there came the sound of things being hurled around in displeasure.

"I fear so." Mycroft looked sympathetic but resigned, as though he had seen it all before.

"So what do you suggest?"

"I'd begin with trousers. I'm finding it very hard to focus on the problem with nothing between me and your genitals but a few feet of towelling." Mycroft raised both eyebrows.

John hurried to his room, and reappeared a minute later in a t-shirt and trousers- loose fitting trousers.

"Better?"

"Much."

"So what do we do? What do I do? "

"I suggest we leave my brother to exorcise his rage on the contents of his room. In the meantime you and I will go to dinner and formulate a plan."

"Dinner? Me and you?"

"It's not a date Doctor Watson. Think of it as a planning meeting. I suggest you go and find a Shirt and tie, and possibly a jacket? "

Sherlock watched them get into the waiting black car. John all dressed up like a little boy being taken out on his birthday. Mycroft looking like the fat cat that got the cream. The cream that belonged to someone else.

Sherlock felt the tears sting his eyes. How could he compete with Mycroft? Bastard.

And then Sherlock decided to do what he did best. Which was an obvious solution to the problem really. He dried his eyes, emptied a full clip of bullets in to the smiley face on the wall, which had been given orange hair for better effect. Then he started to think.


	6. Chapter 6

Mycroft looked on a little jealously and toyed with his Crayfish Salad whilst John busied himself with a Venison steak burger so big he had to cut it in half to pick it up.

"I don't get it. Really I don't. Why would Sherlock suddenly decide he's in love with me? He's the most rational man on the planet. And that is totally irrational."

"I don't think there is anything sudden about it. What happened when you first met? Exactly?" Mycroft poked a lettuce leaf with his fork.

"Well, Mike introduced us, sort of. Then I lent Sherlock my phone. Then he asked me about Afghanistan and some other stuff. Then he left. And he kind of winked at me."

"There you are then. "

"It wasn't that kind of wink."

"How many kinds are there? I bow to your superior knowledge of winking. Of course."

"So you're telling me that it was love at first sight?"

"No it was probably lust at first sight. You are rather attractive Doctor. Especially as you go the most delightful shade of pink every time someone tells you. I rather think the love is a sort of cumulative result of everything else." Mycroft took a good mouthful of wine to help the Lettuce go down.

"Lost me totally. Sorry."

"All of my brother's life he has been unable to form a proper relationship with another human being. He never had any friends you know? As a child, even at University, he was always on his own. The only thing I ever recall him forming any sort of attachment to was a Hamster called Mr. Truffle. He was heartbroken when it died."

"So you're saying I'm a replacement for his Hamster?" John spoke around a mouthful of burger.

"Well in the sense that you are small, cute and slightly fluffy, yes."

"Thank you."

"On the other hand. I don't think even Sherlock, for all his oddness, ever found the Hamster sexually stimulating."

"I bloody well hope he doesn't find me sexually stimulating either."

"Doctor Watson. John. I'm going to ask you something. Please do not take this the wrong way, or for a moment think that your answer will in any way alter the regard in which I hold you."

"Okay." John took a good swig of his pint just in case.

"Are you gay Doctor Watson?"

"No. Why does everyone think I'm gay? Sarah asked me if I was gay two weeks ago. We were in bed. She asked me if I was gay when I was actually inside her! Have you any idea how much that kills the mood?"

"And you have never been gay?" Mycroft had that tone in his voice, the same one Sherlock used when he knew the answer to the question already, but was just asking John to make him feel included.

"That was one time. I was 20. I was so drunk it took me three attempts to get my trousers off. And I honestly thought Ben was a woman. No man should have had legs that nice."

"But you didn't stop when you realised She was a He?"

"No. No I didn't. I tried it. I didn't like it. Never did it again."

"Never?" Mycroft casually began perusing the dessert menu.

"I'm beginning to see why Sherlock hates you."

"And I'm beginning to see why he likes you very much. Why don't you give him a try, you might like him."

"No. Completely. Utterly. Absolutely. Totally. Not. Not now. Not ever. I am not gay."

John's phone bleeped.

_SMS: John. Come at once. Matter of life and death. SH_

"Go on then Doctor. I'm sure lives may be at stake if you don't go right away." John was torn for a moment. Then he began to pull on his jacket.

"I'm sorry, he might be in trouble. You know what he's like?"

"Indeed I do Doctor."

Mycroft watched John Watson leave. He leant over and transferred the remains of John's Venison burger to his own plate and chewed thoughtfully. It was all working out beautifully. Far better than he could possibly have planned. And unlike the unfortunate Mr Truffle, he was fairly sure John Watson would not come off second best to a Vacuum Cleaner. And if he did, there was no way Sherlock could blame Mycroft this time round.


	7. Chapter 7

When John arrived at the crime scene he was a little puzzled to see Sherlock standing outside smugly leant against a wall.

"What's happening?"

"Oh. What? That? Death by wardrobe. Apparently Ikea's rigorous product testing does not include people who like having sex in enclosed spaces. His housekeeper has fled the scene in embarrassment but will be apprehended shortly. Can I borrow your phone?" Somewhere behind him a body and several pieces of splintered MDF were being carried out of the house.

"You dragged me across town to borrow my phone? Again." John's ears started to go pink.

"Well not exactly."Sherlock looked down at the toes of his boots. "I needed to ask you something. And it couldn't wait. And I didn't want you to be with Him." Sherlock seemed to suddenly be very interested in John's ears.

"Look. I'm going to tell you this one more time: Number one I do not appreciate being dragged across town just because you can't be arsed to take your phone out of your pocket. I am not your servant. Number two, I am not sleeping with your brother. And even if I was dangling naked from Mycroft's chandeliers while he sucks me off it is none of your business. Number three: Stop involving me in your family feud, I have one of my own I'm perfectly happy with. And number four I AM NOT GAY. " John suddenly became very aware of at least ten police officers looking at him. A couple of them started to applaud. And the noise brought Inspector Gregory LeStrade out from wherever he had been lurking.

"Hello Doctor Watson. I didn't realise you were here." John forced a smile, hoping, really hoping that LeStrade had not heard him shouting. "Are you alright? You look a bit pale?"

"Yes . I'm fine. Really." John forced his voice to go as deep as possible. The Inspector smiled at him again and patted him on the shoulder.

"Glad to hear it. Not much for you to do really. Sorry. Sex in a Wardrobe? I don't know. Still I suppose it's whatever turns you on. Or in this case, off. We found the housekeeper, on her way to Battersea, just like you said." Sherlock looked down at John, smiling his usual I got it right smile and then froze.

"John. I think we should go now. Perhaps we could go to Angelo's? And I can make up for interrupting your lunch."

"Yeah you should get something to eat John, you don't look so good." And then LeStrade was gone back in to the crime scene in a flurry of overcoat and Old Spice.

"John?"

"Eh? Yes. Let's go. Of course. Dinner. Angelo's. Yes." Because John Watson had just noticed for the first time how very lovely Gregory LeStrade's eyes were. Which was not the kind of thought someone who was sure he was straight should be having. And Sherlock had noticed the Doctor's overlong stares. And deducted.

His brother was one thing. Sherlock was used to Mycroft taking things away from him. It had become habit after so long. But LeStrade? Absolutely not. Sherlock loved John, and he had seen John first. And neither Mycroft nor LeStrade was going to Hoover him up. Where the hell had that thought come from? Time to up the game! Time to give the Doctor what he so obviously needed, whether he knew he needed it or not.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock had finally got John Watson exactly where he wanted him. Naked. In Sherlock's bed. Without Mycroft, or Greg LeStrade or What's-her-name. It had taken a couple of bottles of really good wine, then some Whisky and a lot of talking about feelings. John really liked to talk about feelings. Really. And the Tiramisu had probably helped as well, because John seemed to really like pudding. It was all rather easy. Feed him, talk to him, get rid of any outside distractions. Easy.

It should have all been brilliant. Only it wasn't. John was naked. Except for one sock. And rather lovely in his nakedness. Sherlock was still fully clothed. It had just occurred to him that he should probably be naked as well. And the thought was actually quite terrifying. He had always considered his body to be nothing more than a means of housing his brain. Like the endless, pointless packaging Easter eggs seemed to come in these days. But now, looking down at John's rather perfect frame Sherlock realised he was all angles and pointy bits and really not good to look at Naked.

No wonder John preferred Mycroft, who Sherlock always rather uncharitably called fat, but was in fact, just broader and better built than his younger brother, and he was taller, and his hair was that nice Auburn colour that looked great when the sun shone on it.

No wonder John preferred Greg Lestrade who, under that suit, was probably built like a tank and had those gentle brown, world weary eyes.

Sherlock Holmes was having a crisis of confidence. He had no idea how to deal with this. But John was understanding. John was caring and gentle. He was small and cute and a bit fluffy. Like a Hamster. No, nothing like a Hamster, forget about the Hamster.

And John was... Currently laying on his back snoring.

Sherlock rubbed his temples. Desperate times he supposed called for desperate measures. And Sherlock was totally, utterly desperate.

The number was in his phone. He had never deleted it. Just in case.

"Hi Sexy!" It sounded as though there was some kind of riotous party going on in the background. "What can I do for you?"

"Jim, I'm desperate. I really, really like John, but he keeps saying he's not gay. And Mycroft likes him too, but John likes LeStrade. He goes all pink whenever LeStrade's around."

"And where's your little pet right now?"

"He's naked in my bed."

"And you need my help with what exactly?"

"I need John to like me."

"He does like you. You don't offer to get blown up for someone you don't like."

"And do you think I should take my clothes off?" There was high pitched laugh on the other end of the line.

"Oh. You. Are. Brilliant! Of course you need to take off your clothes. Then you need to get into bed and play with him."

"Really?"

"Yes Sherlock. That's what normal people do!"

"Oh."

"Look, I've got to run Sweet cheeks I'm just about to pull off a Coup D'état in Panama. Love you. Love to little Doctor Hamster as well! Mwa!" The phone went dead.

John was still lying on his back. Sherlock very reluctantly peeled off his suit jacket and shirt, despairing at how much his ribs stuck out, but he supposed it would be alright once he got under the duvet. He was down to his boxer shorts when he noticed that John had an erection. He stared at it for a good five minutes before looking inside his own boxer shorts. How could someone that short have..? never mind. Thoroughly intimidated Sherlock very quickly got dressed. Wondering how, he, Sherlock Holmes, the greatest mind in the world could have so much difficulty with something single cell organisms managed perfectly well.


	9. Chapter 9

John liked the gym at Scotland Yard. No one bothered you, and they had state of the art equipment. So you could just go there and work out. It gave you time to think. John was thinking about the situation he had found himself in that morning. Naked, in Sherlock's bed with an erection so persistent it had taken ten minutes playing with himself in a freezing cold shower to restore him to a point he could actually get his trousers on. Sherlock had been nowhere. The flat as eerily tidy as it had been the day before. John concentrated on the burning in his muscles and tried not to think about the rather bizarre turn of events recently.

Greg LeStrade had always thought John Watson was probably a bit chubby underneath his Jumpers. So he was more than pleasantly surprised when he was treated to the sight of Doctor Watson bench pressing what looked like at least twice his body weight in the Yard Gym. John was wearing baggy tracksuit trousers and a tight fitting army issue PT vest. And he had muscles. Very unexpected muscles in all the right places. Oh Yes, Doctor Watson was very well stacked indeed.

"Morning John." Greg sauntered by in his rugby shorts and _Coppers do it with truncheons _T-shirt. John promptly lost his grip on the bar and nearly squashed himself flat with 180kilos.

"Need a hand Doc?" Greg pulled the Barbell off of him. John had gone a very delightful shade of blossom pink, mainly because from where he was laying he could see right up the leg of LeStrade's shorts.

"Thanks. Sorry. Shoulder gave out. Does that sometimes." John pulled himself upright and gestured to his left Shoulder.

"Oh. Yes. Should you be lifting things this heavy?"

"No pain no gain."

"I suppose. Just be careful." He smiled, John smiled back. Then there was an awkward silence.

"I'm just going to er, have a shower. Thanks Greg." Another shower, thought John, another extremely cold shower.

"Yeah. Erm you're a Hammers fan aren't you John?"

"Yes."

"I've got tickets for the game against Liverpool, Directors' box. Benefits of doing crowd control. Fancy going? I usually take my lad but he's at his Mother's for the Holidays."

"Yeah. That would be great." Absolutely great. Watch a Football match, have a pie and a pint. What normal, completely not gay, not sociopathic, not connected in any way to the government, blokes do. Brilliant. John was so engrossed in thinking of the sheer brilliance and normality of it that he completely failed to notice that the Inspector was taking a very good look at John's backside as he walked off in the direction of the showers.

Sherlock's morning was not going quite so well, and as a consequence of this neither was Mycroft's. The elder Mr. Holmes was used to sorting out the "Little Problems" Sherlock managed to find himself in on an almost daily basis. After all that was what big brother's were for. And whilst their relationship was not exactly sweetness and light, Mycroft had a strict policy that no one, absolutely no one, was allowed to upset, interfere with, or beat up Sherlock except him. Sherlock had turned up at Mycroft's apartment, the plush Docklands one, with the chandeliers, at five in the morning. Mycroft had administered tea, a cheese toasty and two nicotine patches to his distraught little brother and had then spent the next three hours trying to get a coherent sentence out of the genius' mouth.

"So what happened?"

"I took John out for dinner. Italian. He likes Italian food. And then I got him drunk. Which took a lot more alcohol than I had estimated for someone of John's height and weight. Then he took all his clothes off and fell asleep in my bed." The images that were running through Mycroft's head were seriously impacting on his ability to be sympathetic.

"And then what? Did he hurt you? Did he take advantage of you? Did you take advantage of him?" Several other possibilities were dancing merrily across Mycroft imagination including a couple involving cheesecake and the dining table.

"No. I didn't know what to do. I rang Jim. He said I should take my clothes off as well. So I did."

"Aside from you consulting with James Moriarty on dating advice, something we shall be revisiting in the near future, what happened then?"

"I put all my clothes back on."

"Why?" Mycroft was a fairly old hand at working out the convoluted processes of his brother's enormous brain. But this had frankly got him stumped.

"Because, well, John's. It was... And I got frightened." He made a gesture with his hands like a fisherman demonstrating what got away. Mycroft rolled his eyes. Someone really should have sat down with Sherlock and properly had The Talk before now.

"Never mind Sherlock. We'll sort this out." Mycroft put a comforting arm around his brother's shoulders.

"And I think John likes LeStrade better than me anyway." Mycroft's eyes narrowed.

"Does he? Well we'll see about that wont we?" And not for the first time Mycroft really regretted asking Mummy for a baby brother and not a puppy. You could train a puppy not to crap on the carpets, but a baby brother was for life.


	10. Chapter 10

John was nearly home when the familiar black car pulled up next to him and the door opened.

"Get in Doctor Watson." The silky tones of Mycroft Holmes wafted out.

"Are you stalking me? "

"As bewildering lovely as you are, I do not stalk. I have people to do that for me. Now get in and sit down." And the car drove off in to the rush hour traffic.

"Did you and Sherlock have a pleasant evening?"

"I don't really remember. I was a bit drunk."

"Evidently. As Sherlock turned up on my doorstep in the early hours of the morning in tears. I hope you have an explanation for your behaviour Doctor?"

"Behaviour?"

"Yes, apparently you took advantage of him and then fell asleep. This is not the kind of behaviour one expects from and officer and a gentleman."

"I did what?" John was sure at any moment his brain was going to start running out of his ear as he desperately tried to recall the events of the previous evening.

"You took my brothers virginity and then passed out!" Mycroft crossed his fingers. It was so very difficult to lie to the lovely Doctor.

"I bloody well did not!"

"Can you actually remember what you did last night Doctor Watson?" And as the look of horror spread across John's face as he remembered things that hadn't actually happened, Mycroft knew it was mission accomplished. Sometimes he was so Machiavellian he even disgusted himself.

Xxxxxx

When he got dropped off outside 221b Baker Street, John felt as though he had been kicked repeatedly in the head. He'd felt better when he'd been shot. And his leg was starting to hurt. The sheer horror of it all. Taking advantage of someone who was in love with you. He was a despicable human being. He could just picture poor, confused Sherlock, laying there whilst he, John "3 Continents and several out of the way places" Watson, did unspeakable, drunken things to his bottom. Sherlock's poor, previously unsullied, virginal bottom.

John just made it to the bathroom.

Once he'd finished heaving into the toilet he sat on the floor, head in hands wondering what the hell to do next. Whatever happened he couldn't go to the football match with Greg LeStrade.

There was a soft tap on the bathroom door.

"John, are you all right?" Sherlock! John wrenched open the door, ripping the lock out of the wall in his haste.

"Sherlock. I'm so sorry. Really. I don't know what I was thinking. How can I make it up to you?" Sherlock sniffed the back of John's shirt as the rather distraught Doctor put his strong arms around Sherlock. He could smell leather and Drakkar Noir. So Mycroft had obviously fixed whatever was broken. And judging from the way John was acting he'd done it in a very Mycroft-type way. Sometimes his big brother was so Machiavellian Sherlock felt like kissing him. Sherlock put on his best upset face.

"Well, perhaps we could try again. Only nicely this time?" John took a deep breath. He felt like man who knew only the short straws were left to pick. Maybe his regiment and his old rugby club would never get to find out. And it wasn't as though Sarah had actually been serious about him. She just liked him for his big...

"Of course. Nicely." Sherlock smiled and pushed John towards the open door of his bedroom.

Xxxxx

Greg LeStrade looked a little bit crestfallen as he stood outside Upton Park waiting for John. He had the terrible feeling he had been stood up. He was just about to go inside when a large black car pulled up beside him and the door opened.

"Detective Inspector LeSstrade?" The voice of the occupant floated out

"Yes. Who are you?"

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock's elder brother." A tall, well built man with auburn hair and the most exquisite suit LeStrade had ever seen got out of the car. Gray eyes, very similar to Sherlock's looked the Inspector up and down. "I'm afraid Doctor Watson is unable to make it this evening." LeStrade looked down just to check he was still wearing clothes, he felt naked under Mycroft's elegant scrutiny.

"Oh that's a shame."

"Yes. Isn't it? Perhaps I can do something to help your obvious disappointment?"

"Yes I'm sure you can." And LeStrade climbed into the car, ignoring his mothers warning never to accept lifts from strangers.


	11. Chapter 11

In 221b Baker Street things were not going well. John Watson was naked and enjoying an unfettered view of the world's only consulting detective in his birthday suit. Sherlock was thin and pale and John supposed he had the same kind of aesthetic appeal as those statues you saw in museums and garden centres. But it just didn't do it for him.

Sherlock, apparently had got over his previous inhibitions and was carefully stroking his way over John's body with the occasional exclamation at just how buff John's muscles were. John was in hell.

In a Dockland's Apartment with Chandeliers, Greg LeStrade, whilst certainly enjoying the company of Mycroft Holmes and the close proximity to his surprisingly well toned body, was thinking of someone else. One Short, Stocky, Blond haired Army Doctor to be exact. Greg closed his eyes and tried to think of England. When that didn't work he tried to think of the resulting paperwork that would be generated if he didn't please Sherlock's elder brother.

Back at Baker Street Sherlock was beginning to sense something was wrong. John's penis was not cooperating. No matter how much Sherlock fondled it didn't seem to get any bigger or harder. This was not what he had been lead to believe would happen by the instructional books Mycroft had given him.

John Watson was finding it hard to believe that he had spent the previous evening deflowering Sherlock, no matter how drunk he had been. It was only when he briefly thought of his missed football match with Greg LeStrade that he felt a stirring below. And if that was the only way he was going to get through it, then so be it. John concentrated very hard on shutting his eyes and thinking of the Detective Inspector's spectacular thighs.

Sherlock smiled as John began to respond to his touch. He kissed a trail down John's chest to his groin, and then slowly began to lick John's cock, just like he'd seen in the DVD Mycroft had thoughtfully provided. John seemed to be enjoying it.

Mycroft realised that the response he was getting from Greg was not quite what he had been expecting. He ceased his groping and propped himself up on one elbow.

"What's the matter Inspector." LeStrade looked him straight in the eye.

"Please don't take this the wrong way but..."

"Oh." Mycroft had already worked out what Greg was going to say. "Oh Dear."

"Look it's not you. You are really quite lovely Mycroft, it's just that well, I kind of like John Watson. He's got that short, chunky, wounded hero thing going on, and he's a doctor, and he's sensitive, and... You know. Sorry." Greg was quite sure that he was going to be cemented in to a pillar on the M1 by morning. Mycroft sighed. "But if it helps you're just my twin brother Tony's type. And he's not seeing anyone at the moment."

"You mean there are two of you?" Mycroft's Genius brain did some very perverted maths before coming back down to earth.

"No there's only one of me. Now would you like to tell me what exactly I'm doing here?" And Mycroft decided that actually he would rather like to tell Greg LeStrade what was going on in return for Tony LeStrade's phone number.

John pushed Sherlock away from him. He just couldn't do it. He didn't care if Mycroft had him killed, cut in to tiny pieces and served as the Entree at the next state dinner.

"What's the matter John? Am I doing it wrong? Please tell me what I'm doing wrong."

"Sherlock this is so not a good idea."

"Of course it is. I love you. And I won't let Mycroft hurt you or take you away from me." Sherlock burst in to tears. Whilst his Brain was the size of three super computers he had the emotional development of a kiwifruit. John put what he hoped was a comforting, non sexual arm around Sherlock.

"You don't love me Sherlock. Not really. It's obvious I'm just a replacement for someone, or something else."

"But..."

"Shush." John was beginning to feel a little better about himself.

Greg LeStrade could count on the fingers of one hand the times he had been as angry as he was right now. Mycroft could count on one finger the times he had ever been the subject of such a dressing down.

"So poor John, Who is possibly the last decent man left alive on the planet thinks he did something terrible to Sherlock whilst he was drunk and has gone off to make amends? By offering himself as some kind of sacrificial hamster substitute?"

"Erm. Well when you put it like that it sounds a lot worse than it actually is."

"Hmm. Is your whole family like this or is it just you two."

"Mummy decided not to have any more children after Sherlock."

"I can't think why."

"Inspector, Gregory, I will sort this all out. I suggest you go and rescue Doctor Watson."

Greg pulled on his trousers and stormed out leaving Mycroft sitting on the silk sheets wondering how the hell he was going to fix everything this time. And also whether Tony LeStrade would like opera.


	12. Chapter 12

Greg LeStrade made one quick phone call on his way to Baker Street. He called his brother. If anyone could sort out Mycroft Holmes, it was Tony.

"Hi baby brother what can I do for you?" Tony was older by ten minutes.

"Are you seeing anyone at the moment?" Tony's sex life was complicated and needed a twitter account all of its own really.

"No?"

"Do you fancy a sort of blind date?"

"Yeah why not. Are they cute?"

"Tall, red head. Clever. Wears Suits."

"You have my full attention." Tony very much had a type, although in an emergency he wasn't that fussy. Greg made a mental note never to introduce him to John Watson.

"I'll get someone to come and pick you up."

"Sounds good to me. Just give me half an hour." Greg smiled to himself. Because the Holmes brother's weren't the only ones who could play dirty.

John was feeling a little more relaxed, even though Sherlock still looked a bit upset and was gazing over the top of his mug of tea with red rimmed eyes and the occasional injured sniff.

"So we can still be friends John? Because I really do need you."

"Of course we are still friends. It's just a misunderstanding. I blame Mycroft."

"So do I." And John could almost see the gears whirring around Sherlock's head as he plotted some terrible revenge on his big brother.

When Mycroft opened his door and saw Tony LeStrade standing on his doorstep he nearly fainted. Actually nearly passed out. As though someone had suddenly drained every last drop of blood from his body. He had been expecting someone who looked the same as Greg LeStrade. Greg hadn't let on that him and Tony weren't identical. Tony was about the same height as Mycroft, with broad shoulders and he was well muscled without being bulky. He moved with the grace of a dancer, his tight light blue jeans hugging his long legs and leaving nothing to the imagination. He looked at Mycroft with tawny yellow eyes, arching one eyebrow in a question. Tony LeStrade was the most gorgeous man Mycroft had ever seen. His face just should not have worked, and being truthful his nose was probably a bit too big, but when he smiled it was like the downfall of heaven. And then he spoke.

"Hi. Are you Mycroft?" A torrent of deep black velvet and rich silk. It was like having sex, just him speaking.

"Yes. Mycroft Holmes. You must be Gregory's brother?"

"Anthony LeStrade, Tony." He held out a large hand and delivered a crushing handshake. Mycroft nearly fainted again.

When Greg arrived at Baker Street he was relieved to find John had not done anything rash. By anything he specifically meant he had not done Sherlock. In fact John seemed to have everything well under control. Except for the blush when he answered the door and found Greg stood there.

"Sherlock's asleep. I've given him a sedative. It's very useful being able to write your own prescriptions sometimes. He's been a bit off colour recently and he really needs some sleep." John paused, blushing more deeply. "I'm really sorry about the football. Something unavoidable came up."

"Yeah. I didn't actually make it myself. I got abducted by Sherlock's brother."

"Oh God." The bottom had just fallen out of John's world. If Greg had been talking to Mycroft he probably knew what had been going on. He'd probably come around to arrest him.

"Very interesting bloke isn't he?"

"Yes." John managed to squeak. Greg smiled. John Watson was just adorable.

"Well since you've sorted out sleeping beauty. Fancy a pint?" And the look of pure joy and gratitude on John's face nearly had Greg LeStrade kissing him right there and then.


	13. Chapter 13

John was on his second pint of Old Peculiar and had finally managed to stop blushing every time Greg LeStrade spoke to him, looked at him, and on one terrible, brilliant occasion had brushed his leg against John's. John had gone so red he had choked on his beer and had to excuse himself to the bathroom for five minutes. John was enjoying himself now. This was fine. It was better than fine. It was normal. They had been talking about football, and a couple of cases and a new surgical procedure that they were bringing in for doing Heart Bypass operations. It was all gloriously normal.

Greg LeStrade apologised as his phone rang and excused himself from the noise of the pub and the Juke box playing "Ruby Tuesday" to answer it. Caller ID: Tony.

"Hi Tony. Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. Lover boy's just sending out for Champagne and Caviar, and pizza. "

"All going to plan then?"

"Come on Greg. When have I ever let you down?"

"There was that one time when you..."

"We were eleven. Get over it. Don't worry about anything. Secret Squirrel is going to be so knackered the country may well come to a crashing halt by this time tomorrow. Mycroft has a lovely habit of revealing classified information in the throes of passion. It's quite funny really. I've got the Queen's Schedule for the next month, the alarm overrides to 10 Downing Street and the launch code sequences for the warheads on the Ark Royal so far."

"Please tell me you are joking."

"Of course I'm joking, I've been here two hours, do you honestly think he's only come three times? Now what am I really doing here?"

John finished his pint and went to the bar for another round. As he returned to the table Greg LeStrade was just returning from his phone call.

"Sorry, that was my twin brother."

"Oh. Is he okay?" John's head did the maths.

"Yes. He's absolutely fine." Tony would always be fine, a little bit crazy, but always fine. Greg looked at John for a moment taking in the Doctor's happy expression, which he hoped wasn't completely to do with the amount of beer he had consumed. Now or never thought Greg. And took a deep breath.

"John. I was wondering, and please don't take this the wrong way, but..." John's phone beeped.

SMS: John where are you? SH

"I don't believe this. He's had enough sedative to knock out a hyperactive elephant. How can he possibly be awake?"

SMS: John? SH

SMS: John? SH

SMS: Come home. SH

SMS: Please? SH

"He's doing this on purpose. He's got some freaky sixth sense that tells him when I'm out enjoying myself on a date. "John realised his mistake as soon as the words left his lips. "Not that this is a date, of course, because that would be ridiculous. And unprofessional. And I need to go check he's not burning the flat down. Sorry."

"No. It's fine. Absolutely." And Greg LeStrade was left blushing and a little upset as he had been stood up by John Watson for the second time that day. He decided desperate times called for desperate measures. He dialled the number.

"Hello. How's my favourite Policeman then?" There was the sound of an explosion in the background.

"Hi Jim. I need some advice."

"Okay. But you'll need to be quick."

"John Watson. How do I get him to go out with me?"

"What is everyone's obsession with John Watson, has he got an enormous... no not over there, I want hostages. Sorry you just can't get the henchmen these days...Have you tried just asking him out?"

"Yes. But Sherlock keeps interrupting."

"Well I hate to say I told you so but if you'd just left me alone he wouldn't be getting in anyone's way. But oh no, you just had to get involved and stop me. Just because I am master criminal."

"Jim focus. Please."

"Okay Sorry. What you need to do is give Sherlock something else to play with so he will forget about John Watson. I suggest something else small, round and cute. "

"You're a genius."

"Criminal Genius. Speaking of which how's that sexy brother of yours?"

"In bed with Mycroft Holmes."

"What a waste. Speak to you soon sweetie." The phone went dead.

Greg finished his pint. And then it struck him. Something so obvious and simple he could not believe no one had thought of it sooner. He clicked on his phone and Googled "Pet Shops, London."


	14. Chapter 14

Greg Lestrade knew there was a lot riding on the contents of the box in his hands as he bumped the door of 221b Baker Street as gently as he could with his size eleven Doctor Martins. If he was ever going to get left alone with John Watson long enough to ask him out, it was going to be worth the seventy quid of hard earned money he had just parted with.

Sherlock answered the door, a picture of tragic angst in grey silk; he looked like he should be an extra in a Kate Bush video.

"LeStrade, you've come to see John." He looked sulky.

"Actually I've brought you a present."

"Why? I've never told you when my birthday is and it isn't Christmas."

"Let's just say I bought you something as a thank you for all the help you give me."

Sherlock eyed the box suspiciously. John emerged from the bathroom, wearing his blue Mr. Bump bath robe; evidently he had not heard the boot at the door. He was just grateful the last few days had taught him a lesson in wandering around in nothing but a towel.

"LeStrade has bought me a present. Look." He pointed at the large box for emphasis, just in case John hadn't noticed.

"Well are you going to open it?" John pulled his bathrobe a little tighter around himself; he was feeling decidedly under dressed for entertaining Detective Inspectors.

"I suppose." And Sherlock plonked himself down on the sofa and carefully peeled back the sticky tape sealing the box shut. And then he squealed. It was a sound John had never heard Sherlock make before. A sort of excited little yelp of happiness. Sherlock pulled a large cage from out of the carton, looking up curiously from the bed of sawdust at the bottom of it was the cutest hamster John had ever seen.

Sherlock opened his mouth and tried to speak. He couldn't. He started to cry. The hamster attempted to climb up the side of the cage, realised it couldn't quite reach the bars and sat back down on the floor with a slightly exasperated expression, it looked as though it was sighing. John looked at LeStrade and narrowed his eyes slightly. There was something a little too familiar about the small, slightly round, sandy blond hamster.

"Thank you." Sherlock had found his voice. He opened the lid of the cage and reached in a hand. The Hamster bumped his nose against it, then looked up hopefully. Whilst Sherlock was distracted with his new furry friend, John subtly put the vacuum cleaner away in the under stairs cupboard.

The hamster was crawling up the sleeve of Sherlock's dressing gown with a determined expression on its face. Sherlock in turn had a look of unadulterated happiness as it re-emerged at the top of the sleeve and nuzzled into his neck. It seemed it was love at first sight for both detective and hamster.

"Would you like some tea Greg?" John was trying to ignore the fact that LeStrade was standing rather close to him. LeStrade was trying to ignore the fact that Sherlock Holmes was currently going gooey over John Watson in hamster form.

"No. Erm best be going." John looked a little disappointed, but quietly resigned as Greg LeStrade left him with his insane flatmate and rodent doppelganger.

xxxxxx

"It's very strange that I was not aware of your existence." Mycroft watched Tony pulling on his shirt from a pile of silky pillows. "I thought I knew everything about Gregory. Yet I didn't know he had a brother." Mycroft's sixth sense for intrigue was prickling, but he was honestly too shagged out to do anything about it.

"It's not really that surprising. You can't be expected to know everyone who works for you."

Mycroft spluttered on his champagne.

"But that's impossible. How can you work for me? I know everyone who works in every department I run by name." Mycroft was going a little bit red around the ears as his brain tried to compute the information.

"Well that would be the problem then. I don't have a name. As far as you're concerned I'm a number, M."

"Oh My God! You're not 007 are you?"

" 0014, twice the fun. And just for the record. I do like opera and I look great in a Tuxedo." Mycroft held his head in his hands and peered through his fingers at the world of trouble looking at him from the foot of the bed.


	15. Chapter 15

"Of course, I still don't know where he got the second bicycle pump." A week ago John would have assumed Sherlock was addressing him or the Skull. But now he was fairly sure that Sherlock was actually talking to Huggins the Hamster who was perched on top of the Skull on the coffee table, thoughtfully chewing on a raspberry. The hamster paused mid-nibble and John swore its brow furrowed, if hamsters had brows, as it held the remains of its breakfast in one paw. It gave what it obviously thought was a helpful squeak and recommenced its attack on the raspberry.

"Yes! The Gardner! Because it had been raining." John was rapidly getting the feeling he was starring in an x-rated Disney Film. "John? Call LeStrade. We need to go to Gravesend." And whilst John had got that little flutter just below his belly button every time he thought of coming into proximity to Greg LeStrade, he was still a bit miffed that the Hamster had solved the crime before him. He was miffed about the Hamster generally.

And the little furry git managed to look smug about it.

Mycroft was enjoying a leisurely morning having breakfast with the Prime Minister and the Secretary of Defence. It had taken him three days to recover from his thorough shagging at the hands and various other parts of the lovely Tony LeStrade. Not that he was complaining, it was just that so much of his work was conducted sitting on very hard wooden chairs. The meeting had been going well. And there were Danish pastries. And then there had been a knock at the door and in walked Tony LeStrade in a Naval Officers Uniform. And that just wasn't fair.

"Mycroft, do you know Commander LeStrade?" Tony's face was a picture of diabolical innocence as he held out his hand.

"Anthony LeStrade. I'm on secondment to the Ministry of Defence."

"Mycroft Holmes." And I'm silently praying this isn't happening. He thought. He could feel his ears going red. Damn Tony looked amazing in that Uniform.

"Mycroft is here reviewing the new anti-terrorist arrangements. He's a bit of an expert."

"Perhaps I can give you a tour of the new facilities later on Sir?" Tony did that eyebrow thing. Mycroft thought he was having a heart attack. Tony deposited a folder in front of the Prime Minister and then left the room, ensuring Mycroft got a good look at his arse.

"Surprised you've not met The Commander before Mycroft, I would have thought your areas would overlap." Mycroft choked on his coffee.

John had no doubt that there were nice parts of Gravesend. This was not any of them. Sherlock was in a sulk because John made him leave Huggins at home in his cage.

"He might get lost, Sherlock."

"He has an excellent sense of direction."

"He's a Hamster, not a homing pigeon. And he might be considered as a contaminant to the crime scene." Both Holmes and Hamster had looked affronted at the suggestion.

Now Sherlock was stomping around the soaking wet garden of Cholmondley Hall, in a mood so black it was threatening to outdo the ominous clouds in the sky. The gardens were poorly maintained and greasy and looked like the remains of Sunday lunch. Whilst Sherlock stalked around, sending the great and good of the Yard's forensics team scattering in his path, John stood quietly by a decapitated statue in his SOC Suit, feeling like a Smurf at a school disco.

"You Okay John?" Greg LeStrade joined John near the statue, giving him a quick glance up and down. "How's it going with Sherlock and his new friend?"

"Don't. Just don't." John seemed a little bit touchy.

"What? I thought it might give him something else to bother."

"So you didn't get it as a joke?"

"A joke?"

"Don't think I didn't notice it's the same colour as my hair. And it's a lot smaller than a regular Hamster. It's even got a little mark on its shoulder. Just because I'm not a f***ing genius, it doesn't mean I'm stupid. I know when someone is taking the piss. You got him a Hamster that looks like me. I bet you're all having a right laugh at the Yard." Greg was stunned. No wonder John had been a bit off with him. So stunned that his brain disengaged the safety whilst he was looking the other way.

"It's the cutest hamster I've ever seen. Like you."

"What?"

"I mean you're absolutely gorgeous. Look at you. You got those big blue eyes, or are they green? I can never tell. And that cheeky smile and a quite phenomenal arse. I'd do you right now if I thought it wouldn't end up in the Investigation report." Then he put a hand to his mouth realising what he'd just said.

"Oh." John scratched his ear.

"I didn't...I mean...What I meant was... Actually what I meant was exactly what I said."

"Right. Okay. Fine." John chewed it over in his head for a few moments. "I like you too."

LeStrade was just about to say something when Sherlock appeared on top of the Summerhouse.

"I've got it John. Huggins was right. It was in the potting shed." LeStrade shook his head and left John sighing on the soggy path, shooting him a look of wild apology as he made his way across the balding lawn.


	16. Chapter 16

In all fairness, the hamster looked like it was actually enjoying the Opera, from its viewpoint of Sherlock's breast pocket. Or it might have just been enjoying the grape. Either way it was the only living thing in Mycroft's private box at Covent Garden that was enjoying something.

Sherlock was scowling at Mycroft. Despite Huggins attempts to cheer him up. John swore the little furry guy had offered Sherlock his grape, you had to give him props for trying. LeStrade was scowling at some guy who looked like James Bond and the bad guy from Die Hard had had a child, but was in fact his brother. Said brother was scowling back at Greg as they had some kind of silent argument. Mycroft was looking as though he was going to have a heart attack and John was beginning to feel like the only sane man at a loonies only party. And the Opera really sucked.

Sherlock had insisted on bringing the damned hamster, which is what started it all. The hamster would be upset and bored if it got left at home. John had suggested getting it a very small Tuxedo as the bloody thing had everything else. Sherlock asked if he was jealous. Huggins had retreated to the safety of Sherlock's pocket obviously aware that they were talking about him.

Then Mycroft had gone mad because John had allowed Sherlock to bring the "rat-thing". Which had Sherlock calling Mycroft a litany of insulting names in several languages, some complete with graphic gestures. Then the LeStrade boys had arrived and it had just got silly. It seemed Mycroft was unable to function in the presence of multiple LeStrades. And it seemed the elder LeStrade brother was a complete tart. Who had greeted Mycroft with a kiss so passionate that he still hadn't quite recovered, he had looked Sherlock up and down with a knowing smile and then had regarded John with an expression that clearly indicated in a three course meal John was going to be dessert. Then Tony and Greg had an argument without speaking. It must be a twin thing. Although on a frequency that was also used by small rodents as Huggins had clearly understood every word.

And Greg was wearing that Tuxedo and he just looked so damn hot that John wanted to do unspeakable things to him over the padded edge of the Opera box. Unspeakable things that probably carried a minimum jail term.

And at some point John was really going to have to tell Greg how he felt.


	17. Chapter 17

It was one thing dealing with a moody flatmate. Or the moody flatmate's slightly less moody, but infinitely more terrifying big brother. It was one thing dealing with murderers, thieves and liars. It was one thing dealing with the Sick and Helpless. But it was entirely another thing dealing with a disgruntled ball of fluff that looked as though if it could get hold of gun it would shoot you.

An uneasy truce existed between Dr Watson and Sherlock's hyper-intelligent Hamster. They didn't get on all that well. "It's because you're so similar John." He'd thrown the remains of a pot noodle at Sherlock's head for that remark.

It had been an accident. It just happened that Huggins was sat on the table eating a small piece of toast; the hamster seemed to spend a lot of time eating. ("So Similar John"). And then had obviously decided to peruse John's latest case write up. John hadn't noticed and whilst distracted by a text message from Greg LeStrade, had reached for the mouse and struck hamster. Huggins had squeaked, John had shrieked in surprise and was rather glad that Sherlock was not there to make the comparison.

"Look I'm really sorry. I didn't see you there." Huggins demonstrated his displeasure by walking across John's laptop and crapping on the "J" key. Not for the first time, John began to wonder if the hamster could read. Sherlock had already taught it to answer his phone. Hamster and Doctor glared at one another. "Right, well I'm bigger than you and you're going in your cage until _daddy_ comes home." He scooped up a protesting fur-ball and dumped it in its house. Then turned his attention back to his phone.

SMS: Hi John, Wot R U up 2. Do U want a Pint? G.x

SMS: Yes. Come Round 2 221B. J xx ;-)

Things with Greg were going slowly. Very slowly. So far they had had two trips to the pub, both interrupted by Sherlock. One date for Frankenstein at the National, which never happened because of a case involving a Surgeon stealing body parts from the morgue at St. Mary's. There had been the disastrous trip to the Opera, which had ended with Greg and Tony having a punch up in the Car Park (it had been a draw). And then a set of clashing schedules where John had been on Night call and Greg had been working 24 hours a day on a Serial kidnapping. They hadn't so much as held hands yet. And John's dreams were getting increasingly strange and pornographic in compensation.

But they both had a day off.

Greg arrived ten minutes later, dressed in Jeans, boots and a sweater. John realised he was still wearing his pyjamas. The ones with the super-heroes on.

"I feel over dressed." Greg joked.

"Sorry, been having a lazy morning. Just give me five minutes." And John zipped upstairs to get dressed. Leaving Greg alone with the hamster, who had switched itself back to cute mode the moment Greg had turned up. Greg poked a piece of strawberry through the bars of the cage and smiled indulgently.

"Oh don't encourage it please." John reappeared in what he hoped was a killer combination of dark blue jeans and tight-ish black shirt. Greg seemed to approve by the warm smile. "It crapped on my laptop. It's a menace." The hamster looked up innocently with a "Who me?" expression.

"Is the nasty doctor being horrible to you mate?"

"Come on. Let's go. I'm not having you bonding with the bloody thing as well."

Sherlock was a bit miffed when he got back to Baker Street to discover that John was out. Probably with LeStrade if the marks on the hall carpet were anything to go by. He was still a little jealous. Huggins was lovely but didn't compensate for everything. He also had no doubt that LeStrade intended to have sex with John as he had worn his most erotic aftershave and gelled his hair. And somewhere in a barely used part of Sherlock's brain he thought that really it should be him with John.

Sherlock was even more miffed when he found a miserable looking hamster chewing on the remains of a strawberry, locked in his cage. He immediately freed the captive and placed him on the table. Huggins moved with purpose over to John's laptop and peed on it. Then with a look of extreme satisfaction he set about attacking the remains of John's toast. Sherlock stroked him gently with one finger, eliciting a little squeak of pleasure in between nibbles.

"Just like John." But the hamster didn't look convinced.


	18. Chapter 18

Mycroft Holmes had just been fellated in the emergency situation room at 10 Downing Street. Tony LeStrade was looking unbearably pleased with himself as he tucked Mycroft back into his monogrammed silk undershorts and zipped up his trousers for him.

"So what do you think of our emergency arrangements then Mr. Holmes?"

"It looks as though you can handle anything that might come up." Mycroft panted, still awaiting the return of the use of his knees.

"I can handle anything you like. Sir." And for extra emphasis Tony groped Mycroft's groin. "Question is can you?"

"You're going to be the absolute death of me. Commander." Tony smiled, because although Greg hadn't exactly said _shag Sherlock's brother 'till he has a stroke_, Tony knew that was what he really meant.

The other LeStrade Brother was taking things at a far more leisurely pace. Or at least with a different approach. John Watson was now fully charged up on four pints and an enormous mixed grill that Greg would have put a fiver on John not being able to finish. There had been some slightly amateur groping under the table in the Jekyll and Hyde, which had prompted them to abandon the pub in favour of Greg's house. And if what he had groped was anything to go by, Greg was in for rather a good time.

"Do you want coffee John?" Greg had turned his back for two minutes to hang up their coats in the hallway. When he swung around John was standing in a puddle of clothing, wearing nothing but a pair of tight boxer-trunks and a smile.

"I guess that's a no on the coffee then?" Greg pulled off his shirt. "Bedroom's this way."

Sherlock was brooding in Baker Street. No one was answering his phone calls. He lay on the sofa, with Huggins curled up snoozing on his stomach. His furry companion had been very out of sorts since his stint in the cage. Sherlock would definitely be having words with John about it. If he ever returned from shagging LeStrade. In fact, thought Sherlock both my brother and my best-only friend are currently shagging LeStrades. He looked at the fluffy ball on his shirt.

"You won't go off with a LeStrade will you?" Huggins opened one eye, and purposely poddled up Sherlock's shirt and repositioned himself on the breast pocket near Sherlock's heart. The detective took that to be his answer and smiled. Then turned his attention back to his phone.

"Sorry, it's just I've never seen one quite so...especially not on someone so..." Greg knew he was staring and making pointless gestures with his hands. He was if the truth be told, feeling slightly vulnerable. If someone had told him he was going to be intimidated by John Watson he would have laughed. But here he was, outgunning John by several inches of height and a good couple of stone, give or take a mixed grill and he was ready to curl up in a ball. Not once had it occurred to him that John would be built like a porn star.

John in turn had gone one of his less attractive shades of red and was beginning to think it was a diabolical plot to stop him having sex ever again. The more irrational part of his brain was blaming Mycroft and the hamster jointly for the current situation. He sat down dejectedly on the edge of the bed, no one had ever complained before.

Greg looked at John's distraught expression and sat next to him putting an arm around his shoulders.

"I suppose it would be okay if we took it slowly?"

"I can do slowly." John looked up hopefully. "Trust me, I'm a doctor."


	19. Chapter 19

It transpired that John couldn't really do slowly at all. It also transpired that Greg did screaming like a banshee rather well. John found it most off-putting. In fact John was finding a lot of things rather off-putting. In the end they found a slightly unhappy compromise in Greg letting John get off between his legs. As first times went, they had both had worse, but only just.

Mycroft was enjoying the Theatre. Or more specifically he was enjoying pretending to watch whatever the play was whilst Tony LeStrade's sexuality leaked over him from the next seat. Even staring straight ahead, pretending nothing was happening, which it wasn't, Mycroft was aware of the signals that Tony was broadcasting on all frequencies. A sort of Sexual distress call that said "I'm hot, horny and available."

He wasn't quite sure how Tony did it. Just sitting there quietly Mycroft felt like he was being sexually harassed. Tony had obviously noticed, as he leaned over on his elbow and whispered in Mycroft's ear. That voice. That bloody voice. It dripped in to Mycroft's brain and coated everything, all the razor sharp thoughts and carefully ordered processes, in a thick sensuous treacle. It made Mycroft incapable of thinking. It made Mycroft normal, helpless, scared. And so very, very aroused.

Out of the three Sherlock was probably having the best time of it. He had decided that Huggins needed a treat in order to get over the trauma of being imprisoned earlier so he had taken him shopping and had come back with a Hamster ball shaped like a Mini Cooper that Huggins was currently re-enacting the Italian Job in on the floor of the flat. It was most entertaining. The way Huggins' little legs powered along and the determined expression on his face was rather like John Watson. No nothing like John Watson. Forget about John Watson.

John had returned to Baker Street and had nearly been mown down by a hamster driving a mini. He blinked a couple of times and shook his head to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

"Great, the bloody thing's trying to run me over now."

"Well you did incarcerate him earlier John."

"I put him in his cage so he would be safe whilst I went out. It's not my fault that hamster's weird."

"He was distraught when I got back. He doesn't like being imprisoned."

"Oh for God's sake, it's a hamster not the f***ing count of Monte Cristo. It's just being a bloody drama queen to get attention."

"I take it from your foul mood that your afternoon with LeStrade did not go well?"

"No. It did not. How do you know where I was?"

"I can smell LeStrade's aftershave. It's rather a cheap, common brand he uses. And your socks are on inside out. Which suggests you have been fully undressed this afternoon. For sex. But your rather grumpy attitude suggests that the sex was either unfulfilling or didn't happen. "

"Yes. Well done. Brilliant. It was a complete disaster. Now leave me alone." John stormed up the stairs to his room.

The hamster drove over to Sherlock and gently bumped his toe. Sherlock looked down and Huggins set off with purpose to the foot of the stairs leading up to John's room. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"Are you trying to tell me something Huggins?"


	20. Chapter 20

Sherlock knocked tentatively at the door of John's room. He could hear him sulking inside. John sulked much louder than he thought.

"What?" He sounded very grumpy. Poor John. His poor rejected little Doctor.

"I've brought you a cup of tea. And some biscuits."

"We have biscuits?"

Sherlock pushed the door open and found John sat miserably on the bed wearing nothing but his pyjama trousers, the Cookie Monster ones that were a little bit big for him. He was a little red around the eyes. Sherlock put the tea on the bedside table and sat down.

"I'm sorry it didn't go well John." John's eyes narrowed. Was he sorry or just using his sorry face?

"Thanks. It was a disaster. Complete. Total. Disaster."

"Oh." Sherlock really had no idea what to say. He put his arm around John's bare shoulder, his hand brushing against the awful scar. "LeStrade is an idiot to upset you. And so am I."

John blinked. The great Sherlock Holmes had just, sort of, apologised to him. And admitted he was wrong. In the same sentence. The world may cease to spin at any moment.

"Its fine."

"Is it all fine John?" And Sherlock leant forward to kiss him.

Downstairs, Huggins had curled up asleep on John's laptop. Humans were very confusing sometimes.

Mycroft had already had two orgasms and was well on his way to number three when Tony LeStrade's phone rang. Unbelievably he answered it. And kept shagging. They certainly taught them the art of multi tasking in the Navy.

"Tony? It's Greg." He sounded drunk.

"What's up? How's the date with the Doc going?"

"Shit. It's all shit and I hate myself."

"Okay." He looked down at the expression of extreme concentration on Mycroft's face. An expression that distinctly said please finish me off soon. And whilst it would be most enjoyable to carry on screwing Mycroft into the mattress, his brother had sent him a distress call. "I'll be there in twenty minutes." Greg sniffed on the other end of the line. Tony hung up and returned his full attention to the task in hand. Time to set a personal best.

Kissing Sherlock Holmes was quite enjoyable really. When there was no pressure. When John was sober. When there wasn't a jealous hamster in the way. Or a controlling elder brother. Kissing was actually nice. So was touching him. And gently being caressed by him. And being naked with him. And sliding under the duvet with him. And John was wondering what making love to him would be like when his train of thought was interrupted by someone banging on the door of the flat. John went cross eyed with frustration. Sherlock looked as though he was about to burst in to tears.

Mycroft looked far worse than both of them when John answered the door.


	21. Chapter 21

The expression on Mycroft's face was an odd mix of anger and extreme, heartbreaking disappointment. John's own anger was immediately disarmed by the look, coupled with Mycroft's failure to notice John was wearing Sherlock's dressing gown. Sherlock of course, let him have it with both barrels.

"Mycroft. Wore you out has he? Or has he just sucked all the life out of you through that hickey on your neck."

John ignored that Sherlock had just used the word hickey and tried to be sympathetic.

"Mycroft what's wrong? What's happened?" Huggins, who disliked Mycroft even more than he disliked John uncurled from the top of John's laptop where he had been sleeping peacefully on the warm bit whilst it was charging, and took a few steps closer to the action.

"Tony walked out on me." Sherlock pulled a face, John scowled at him.

"You mean he dumped you?"

"I'm not sure. He got a phone call from his brother and said he had to leave. We were...in the middle of it at the time."

"The middle of what?"

"The middle of _IT."_

"Do you mean he stopped mid coitus and walked out on you? Leaving you all alone and unfulfilled?" Sherlock wasn't even trying to hide his enjoyment.

"He did finish. It was very rough and hurt quite a lot." Mycroft went pink around the edges. John carefully tried to push several unwelcome images from his head. It looked as though the hamster was trying to do the same.

"Why did he leave?"

"It's obvious John. Greg is upset because your afternoon did not go well. He has probably got very drunk and then called his brother for sympathy. Tony is probably used to this by now and has gone to rescue Greg from whatever gutter he's sitting in, before it becomes an embarrassment. I would suggest Tony has a casual attitude to his relationship with Mycroft because a man as attractive as Tony LeStrade can get another partner very easily. He is not interested in a relationship. Only sex. However he obviously feels responsible for his brother in some way." Sherlock looked pointedly at Mycroft who collapsed onto the sofa holding his head.

"You didn't really think Tony LeStrade was ever going to want a long term relationship Mycroft?"

"Sherlock. You know that list we talked about? The list of not good things? Well this is on it. Kind of near the top." John patted Mycroft on the shoulder and went to put the kettle on.

"Oh it's all right Mycroft, I've got an idea." Sherlock whispered in his brother's ear. Huggins craned forwards to listen in.

Tony LeStrade had not found his brother in a gutter, or even looking at the stars. He had found Greg leaned over the railings of Hammersmith Bridge puking up into the murky waters below. Upon his arrival, Greg instantly put his arms around Tony's neck and sobbed that he hated everything in the world and just wanted to die. Tony had heard it all before. And had probably said it all before himself. He patted his brother sympathetically and was just manoeuvring him into the back of his car when Greg heaved again all over Tony's designer jeans and expensive leather shoes.

"Hello Jim? Its Mycroft... No Sherlock's brother, Mycroft... Yes the one with red hair... whatever colour they are is none of your business." Mycroft was on the phone in Sherlock's room so John couldn't hear him. Both he and his brother agreed John would blow his lid if he found out who they were calling. "I need some advice. Tony LeStrade. Help."


	22. Chapter 22

An hour after the spew from the bridge, Tony had finally managed to get Greg home, showered and in to bed. He was also showered and in bed. The same bed as Greg. Both of them curled up asleep, arms around each other, Greg's head buried in Tony's chest. And whilst the rest of the planet might have cried "incest" at that, for Tony and Greg it was the most natural thing in the world.

After all that's how they spent the first nine months of their creation, naked, in close proximity to one another. That's how they spent most of their childhood. Especially when things went wrong. And although they presented two different appearances to the outside world and two apparently different personalities, if you scratched Greg, you found Tony.

Tony was a tart. One hundred percent tart with no added inhibitions. But that was only to fill in the times in between his brother needing him. Which he always did eventually. And no matter what or who he was doing, Tony always dropped everything and came running. Deep down Tony LeStrade was a naughty boy, but he wasn't a bastard.

Unfortunately John Watson, The Holmes Brothers, Huggins the Hamster and James Moriarty were blissfully unaware of Tony's fluffy side. Mycroft had recovered from his upset enough to be deciding which arse end of nowhere to have Tony posted to. Preferably somewhere humid, with very large spiders and poisonous things. Moriarty had suggested Borneo, and there was something in the tone of his voice that hinted that Tony LeStrade had used and abandoned him as well. Mycroft wondered if there was anyone Tony hadn't slept with. Other than Sherlock of course, because no one in their right mind would sleep with Sherlock. Except maybe John Watson. And possibly the rat-thing.

Huggins must have read Mycroft's mind. He had been sitting on John's knee during a lengthy and stressful discussion between the Holmes brothers, largely to the exclusion of John and Huggins. Huggins had decided that John wasn't so bad after all. In fact he had promoted John to second favourite human status after John had given him a piece of his banana. But now he eyed Mycroft with a concentrated amount of malice and scurried up John's arm onto the back of the sofa. In the direction of Mycroft's very expensive cashmere overcoat.

John was wondering if he was being punished for something. If he'd died and this was what hell was like: A never ending round of sexual frustration, baffling murders and conversations where every sentence began with "Yes but what you have failed to observe..." or "So father left you the magnifying glass? Oh how ironic." And now the hamster was being nice to him. Hopefully that meant it would stop its war of defecation on his laptop.

Sherlock was done helping Mycroft now it seemed. Because he sat down next to John and put an arm around his shoulders possessively.

"Are you finished plotting your revenge? If so why don't you just go and get a KFC bargain bucket and stuff your face. John and I were hoping to enjoy the rest of the night together." Yet again John blushed. He just couldn't help it.

Mycroft glared at Sherlock with an _I'll deal with you later _look and then stood to leave. He picked his coat up from the back of the sofa, an action which was followed by the sound of ten buttons clattering to the floor. Mycroft looked down at his now button- less coat and then at a very smug looking hamster with an expression that clearly said "Do not refer to me as a rat thing again."

Huggins then walked back down on to John's shoulder and snuggled against his collarbone looking hopefully around for another piece of banana.


	23. Chapter 23

Tony LeStrade was rudely awakened by his phone ringing at six in the morning. He carefully extracted himself from the arms of his brother and groped around trying to locate the ringing. The caller ID read _MOD 6._

"Commander LeStrade." He listened, his heart slowly sinking until it was somewhere near his buttocks. "Understood." He nudged his brother awake. Greg looked at him, wide eyed and confused.

"Greg. I've got to go mate. There's a problem. I've just been activated." They looked at one another in silence. Both knew there was a chance this would happen one day. A chance Tony would have to go off on some dangerous assignment. A chance he would not come back.

The two brothers held a silent conversation. Words weren't really necessary. And then held each other tightly. Neither one wanting to be the first to let go.

At Baker Street the residents were enjoying breakfast. John had nipped out and bought eggs, bacon, the whole works. He'd even bought a Hamster-Honey-Treat for Huggins. Although Huggins seemed more intent on waging a war on Sherlock's bowl of Rice Crispies. He didn't seem to be that interested in eating them, just taking them out of the bowl and then stamping on them. He did seem to be rather keen on making John a part of it though. Occasionally squeaking to get his attention and then proudly showing off his latest kill.

"I think he's warming to you John."

"Yes. Yes I think he is." John wasn't quite sure if that was a good thing or not and shoved another piece of toast in his mouth whilst he thought about it. As if to illustrate the point Huggins moved across the table and nuzzled against John's arm, before scurrying back to Sherlock and running up his sleeve.

"I think people who live together should get on. "

"Sherlock he's a hamster." Huggins squeaked indignantly.

"Sorry. But you are. It's a fact. I'm not being rude." And now I'm justifying myself to a rodent, John thought. Somebody save me. And then Sherlock's phone beeped.

SMS: Multiple Murder. Come at once. GL.

"Brilliant. There's been a Multiple Homicide. I love Saturdays. Come on John."

Mycroft Holmes had woken up on the Sofa. Not unusual in its self. However he had apparently slept using a half eaten Kebab as a pillow, which is not something he normally did. Half eaten anything was a very rare animal in the world of Mycroft. There was also an empty bottle of very cheap vodka stuffed down the seat cushion. He gingerly lifted his head and discovered it was too heavy for his neck and gently laid it back down on the remains of the kebab. He tried to remember the series of events that had lead up to his current dishevelment.

Mycroft squinted at his phone. The screen light was so very bright. Then looked at his recently sent messages. And his eyes widened with horror. Which wasn't such a great idea as they were instantly filled with Chilli sauce.

SENT MESSAGE:

SMS: 0014 to be activated for Panama Crisis mission. With Immediate Effect. M.

Mycroft's drunk-texting was so much more lethal than everyone else's.

Sherlock and John arrived at the Crime scene, minus one disappointed Hamster who had been locked in his cage and was probably plotting terrible revenge once he escaped. It seemed from the scene that there were indeed multiple bodies, and a lot of blood. And in the middle of it all a very miserable looking Greg LeStrade, red eyed with shoulders hunched was half heartedly looking at a footprint. He looked up. Saw John. Looked back down. It was going to be a very awkward case. John could just tell.


	24. Chapter 24

Tony LeStrade was looking distractingly handsome, as usual, in his black combat trousers and t-shirt. But anyone who really knew him could have told you he was worried. Worried because he was almost certain he was being sent on a suicide mission.

"Pay attention 0014." And he was handed a gun "Standard issue Walther PPK, fitted with micro night vision scope. Don't lose it."

"Yes Q." Tony had never lost anything Q had given him in the past. He still had the watch with the stun darts in from his first ever mission.

"And 0014, Good Luck." Q actually liked Tony. He wasn't a pretentious twat like the other double O agents, especially not 007, who had let the number go to his head. And whose name wasn't James Bond, but in fact was called Wayne Kerr. If you said that quickly it summed him up. Tony was a nice lad and very good at his job. Which is why Q could not quite understand why he had been sent on this crazy mission. Still, whatever M wanted.

John and Sherlock had returned from the multiple murder. Sherlock had taken one look at the crime scene and deduced that they were looking for the ex wife of the first man to be killed. They left it at that, John was grateful to get away; he was still rather embarrassed about the whole thing with Greg LeStrade.

When they arrived back at 221B, they were greeted by the sight of a very despondent hamster sitting listlessly at the bottom of his cage. He didn't even make a fuss when Sherlock opened the door to let him out, just sat there, head on paws, a picture of small furry misery.

"Huggins what's the matter?" There was a real note of concern in Sherlock's voice. "John, I think he's ill. Do something "Sherlock set him on the table, he didn't move.

"Sherlock, I'm a doctor, not a vet." But John had a look any way. The little guy really didn't look happy. "Well, his nose is moist and his eyes are bright. And he doesn't look to be hurt." John turned the Hamster upside down. He didn't even squeak. "I think maybe we should take him to a vet." John set him back down on the table.

"He's not going to vet. They'll treat him like an animal. Huggins tell me what's wrong." Sherlock could be quite pathetic when he wanted to be.

The Hamster looked up and made his way over to John's laptop. He stamped on a few keys and then walked over to John and nuzzled against his jumper.

"He must be ill. He didn't even crap on it." That's all John needed. A sick Hamster. Sherlock would be completely unmanageable.

Sherlock was looking curiously at the screen.

"I think he's trying to tell me what the matter is."

"Sherlock. I know he's very clever. But I'm fairly sure Hamster's can't type." John looked at the screen.

**S+J=)H+? **

"There's something in this John. I intend to solve this." And Sherlock stared at the screen.

"I'll make the tea." Huggins hopped onto John's arm and ran up his sleeve to his shoulder. "Okay, just hold on tight. I don't think falling in the sink will do you any good." John felt the hamster dig his claws into John's jumper, gently but firmly.

So he did understand what people were saying.


	25. Chapter 25

Sherlock had not moved for three hours. Just stared at the screen of John's laptop. Gazing at the Cryptic hamster message. John had kept him supplied with tea and toast but left him otherwise undisturbed. And if the truth be told John was a little worried himself. For most of the afternoon he had a small furry passenger clinging to him. Huggins had hugged John's jumper and even curled up to sleep on John's belly after a while. Definitely something was wrong. And then suddenly Sherlock jumped to his feet. Shocking John from his semi doze on the sofa.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed "Huggins is lonely." The hamster was snoozing on John's stomach. Even in sleep he looked miserable. "S+J=), that's Sherlock plus John equals happy. H+?, Huggins plus who? Poor little Huggins. I had no idea all these goings on were upsetting him. He must be questioning where he fits in "

"I know how he feels." John muttered.

"Exactly! Which is why he's been clinging to you all day. He thinks you understand."

"Okay. So what do we do? Go get him a girlfriend."

"Don't be so vulgar John. This needs careful thought." John nodded. He guessed that meant no sex for him tonight. Again.

Tony LeStrade flicked on his night vision and wiped a sticky line of sweat from his forehead. He had managed to get into the compound where target number one was holed up. He stuck to the shadows. Dressed in black from head to toe, moving silently. The guards seemed a bit pathetic; you just couldn't get the henchmen these days. Tony shinned up the drainpipe to what he had established through his x-ray scope was the master bedroom. He was just pulling himself up over the balcony rail when a gun clicked and cold metal pressed against his temple. He froze. So this was it.

"Oh my God! Tony?" Someone squealed in his ear and the gun lowered slightly.

"Jim?" He hoisted himself over the rail and collapsed in an undignified heap on the floor.

"Tony! This just gets better and better. They gave up on the fighters and sent me a lover!" And before he knew what was happening Jim Moriarty was on top of him, snogging his face off with a hand stuck down the front of his trousers.


	26. Chapter 26

Tony LeStrade had just kicked Jim Moriarty in the head. Something he had wanted to do for a very long time. At least the past forty minutes. And now the aforementioned master criminal was out for the count on the bedroom floor. Which would have been all well and good if Tony hadn't been handcuffed naked to the bed. He had managed to activate his emergency tracker but it was small consolation to know that when the Marines did arrive, they were going to find him like this. At least if he bled to death it would save him a lot of embarrassment and some very awkward debrief questions.

Tony was bleeding, badly. He had a deep cut above his eye where Jim had smacked him against the chest of drawers. He always did like it rough. But what were most worrying were the deep cuts across his chest. Moriarty had filleted him with a cutthroat razor. And unless he got rescued soon, that was going to be it. Game over.

It sounded as though the front door of Baker Street was being kicked in. John leapt to his feet from the sofa, nearly sending Huggins, who had been snoozing on his chest, flying. He set the Hamster down on the table with a look of apology and hurried to answer the door.

Greg LeStrade looked pale, and a little bit green, as though he were about to be sick.

"Greg? What?" John had just registered it was three in the morning.

"It's Tony. I've just been called by his C.O. He's been wounded. Badly."

"Oh my God." John instinctively put his arms around Greg, who burst into tears. Sherlock emerged from wherever he had been sleeping. Possibly the bath. He huffed slightly at the sight of John hugging LeStrade but decided to let it slide this once.

"Sherlock, put the kettle on." But before anyone could move there was another, tentative knock at the door.

Mycroft looked much the same as Greg. And it was probably just as well Greg was unaware his brothers current state was mainly down to the jilted elder Holmes.

Huggins seemed to have cheered up immensely at the sorry appearance of Mycroft. But tried to express his sympathy for Greg by offering him a grape. He didn't even protest too much when John put him in his cage. John figured there was too much going on and a trodden on hamster did not need adding into the mix. He did leave the door open though.

"So what do we know?"John asked. Sherlock stepped back and admired Military John, someone who didn't put in an appearance that often.

"Just that he's been hurt. He could be dead!" Greg sniffed.

"He's being brought home now. I made the arrangements." Mycroft said quietly.

"So we just wait?"

"I will be notified the moment the Commander lands. It was James Moriarty. They have him in custody, awaiting extradition. Or extermination. Either suits me." And then his Phone bleeped.


	27. Chapter 27

They could tell how much pain Tony was in by his half-hearted attempt at chatting up the nurse who was changing the dressing on his chest. If he had been well and fully functioning the slim red-head would not have stood a chance. He smiled wanly as Greg, Sherlock and John entered the room. Mycroft had gone back to an undisclosed location for the purpose of beating the shit out of the newly extradited Moriarty. Technically Mycroft would not be doing the beating himself, but it was the thought that counted.

"Hey Tony!" Greg hugged his brother carefully.

"Hi."

"That looks pretty nasty."

"Yeah. Bastard Jim Moriarty. He just does not forgive and forget that man."

"You have a previous history with him?" Sherlock was interested now.

"Could say that. We went out for a couple of months at University. Didn't last though."

"You dumped him?"

"No he dumped me. Never did say why. But somehow he now thinks it's my fault." Tony indicated the bandages. John was absorbed in the chart at the foot of the bed.

"How am I looking Doctor?"

"Gorgeous!" John said it without thinking. He blushed. Sherlock glared. "Er I mean. Good. Yeah. Your stats are all fine, no infection. Fine."

"Do you need anything?" Greg asked, whilst brushing his brother's hair back from his forehead.

"Beer." H received a significant look from John. "That was a joke. No. But can you ask Mycroft to come and see me? And Greg, can you look after Hardwicke?"

...

Mycroft Holmes did not usually go in for rough stuff. It was vulgar. Showed a lack of control. It also felt good. Mycroft had smacked James Moriarty three times in the face, and kicked him in the balls just for good measure. Whatever clever things Moriarty had intended to say in response to Mycroft's interrogation they had been forgotten. All he had managed to articulate in an hour had been a series of grunts and the phrase "Stop hitting me you ginger psycho."

Mycroft sat back his shirt sleeves rolled up, clicking his knuckles in a way that clearly demonstrated that there was more to come. He leant forward so his face was a mere inch away from Moriarty's.

"I know you are labouring under the impression that Sherlock is the bad boy of my family. Well I'll let you into a little secret. The only reason I'm the good one is because I had to be. Balance is very important you see. I'm good, Sherlock's bad. Only Sherlock isn't here." Moriarty went a very unhealthy chewing gum white as Mycroft opened a small case and pulled out a syringe.

"You wouldn't. Mycroft you can't."

"Oh I can. I still owe you for that fiasco in the swimming pool. Amongst other things." And Jim watched helplessly as Mycroft pressed down on his restrained arm to find a vein.

...

Tony LeStrade's flat was in darkness. Greg clicked on the light and illuminated a very pleasant, if sparsely furnished open plan studio. Not a swish as Mycroft's and certainly not as cluttered as Baker Street. There was a rattling from over in one corner.

"That'll be Hardwicke." Greg walked rattle-wards. And indicated a cage on a low table. Inside was a grey and brown hamster, it was almost a tweed effect. It was pacing up and down in its cage. As though it was waiting.

"Hardwicke?" john was curious. The hamster turned as his name was mentioned. Took one look at John, and gazing at him with what could only be admiration began bouncing up and down, asking to be let out.

"I have an idea. Why don't we take him to Baker Street? I'm sure you'll be back and forth to the hospital, and we can easily look after him. Can't we John?" John nodded, resigned. Hardwicke had already run up his arm and was nuzzling his neck like a long lost friend.


	28. Chapter 28

"It looks a lot worse than it is. Really." Tony was holding Mycroft's hand. Mycroft had gone white when he had seen Moriarty's handiwork, then had proceeded to turn increasingly deeper shades of red as his blood pressure rose towards boiling point along with his temper.

"I don't care. Its the fact he did at all. Any one else would have been bad enough, but he did it to you. You. How dare he? I'm going to hang that little bastard upside down for the rest of his life."

"Calm down love. It won't do your blood pressure any good. And it's done now. They've said the scars won't be too bad." But Mycroft wasn't convinced at all. Even if they faded away to almost nothing, he would still know they were there. The awful gouges on Tony's chest, written by Jim Moriarty's cutthroat magic marker. There for the entire world to see, Tony had the initials JM carved on his body. Branded .

The only good thing to come out of it was Mycroft's realisation of how mad he was that another man had dared to do that to his Tony. His Tony. And that he had to make it right somehow. He leant in further, checking the doorway, although the chances of interruption with two black suited agents guarding the entrance was remote.

"Tony?" he squeezed his hand. "I don't want you to go on any more missions. I want you to come and work for me. I want you attached to my section forever."

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"Funny you should mention proposals." And there was a metallic glitter from a velvet box.

Xxxxx

"Huggins this is Hardwicke, he belongs to Greg's brother Tony. He's going to be staying with us for a while." Sherlock explained carefully to the small blond hamster, who was paying no attention whatsoever, but rather was gazing enthusiastically at the Tweedy ball of fluff currently perched on John Watson's shoulder.

"I'll just put you down on the table, Hardwicke." The new hamster did not seemed convinced this was a good idea.

"John you'll have to be firm with him."

"I'm so glad my sister can't see me doing this. Look if you don't like him you can come back on my shoulder. How's that?" Hardwicke sighed but looked a little happier with this arrangement.

Huggins scurried over to Hardwicke and sniffed him curiously. Hardwicke looked slightly affronted at this and looked back at John. Huggins squeaked, Hardwicke squeaked back. Huggins nudged him, squeaked again and then turned and walked over to his cage. Hardwicke took a few moments before following, obviously happy with whatever arrangement they had come too.

"Excellent. That's those two sorted out. What about us John?"

"What about us?" John was keeping an eye on the hamsters.

"Well, before all this business with Tony happened I thought we were getting somewhere."

"Getting somewhere?"

"You are being very dense John."

"Will you stop calling me stupid? I'm not stupid. I'm a doctor, and a surgeon. "He huffed and sat down on the sofa.

"This is all very new to me John. I don't know what the correct thing to say is."

"When has that ever bothered you? Just say what you want to say. Get it over with."

"All right. Before we were interrupted the other night I thought there was the distinct possibility that you and I were going to make love. You know with penetration and everything."

"Oh that." Sherlock sat down next to him and leant forward to kiss him. In Huggins cage there was the distinct sound of excited squeaking. John kissed back in the hope of drowning out the sounds of the hamster orgy and his own self doubt.


	29. Chapter 29

It wasn't often that Tony LeStrade was stuck for words. On the contrary, he had always been the more verbose of the LeStrade twins. But he was completely stumped as to what to say about his recent reversal of fortune. One minute he was ready to meet his maker in Panama, and face a very thorough interrogation at the hands of St. Peter, who he was sure would know everything already. The next moment Mycroft Holmes had whipped out a velvet box from Lucifer's of Mayfair and asked him to...?

But he wasn't quite sure what he had asked. It sounded like marriage. Only that was ridiculous. Tony was sure that somehow his painkilling medication was also killing off the brain cells responsible for his grip on reality. Mycroft looked at Tony hopefully. But as the seconds turned to minutes the hope was slowly dissolving into the muddy waters of despair.

"Well?" he couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"Am I dead?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

"Because the highest government official in the world has just asked me to have a civil partnership? They never told us that one at Sunday school."

"And?"

"Well it's one thing being private and discrete about it, it's another thing getting a piece of paper and waving it at everyone."

"Do you think I care what people think? I could have them all mining gravel in Siberia if I wanted. Now yes or no, because I really need to get back and pull Moriarty's toenails out."

"You are so hot when you are being mean. Yes. But I get to pick my own suit."

"I look forward to approving your choice." Mycroft kissed him gently and left the room.

John and Sherlock had retired to Sherlock's room. Both of them had found the disturbing rattling coming from the hamster cage rather off putting. But with the door shut and the lights down low, John was ready for some romance of his own. He started off gently, making sure he was attentive and made Sherlock happy as well. John was resisting the temptation to go for it hell for leather and get it over with before they got interrupted again. He was doing a very good job. Sherlock moaned a little as John kissed up his neck and arched off the bed as he found his lips. So far so good.

John was just positioning himself carefully to enter Sherlock and finally claim what was rightfully his when Sherlock's phone rang. Automatically a long arm reached for it. But John was quicker. The caller ID said Mycroft.

"Mycroft, I don't care if someone has murdered the Queen and casseroled the Corgis. Sherlock is not here for the next hour." John looked down at his straining erection. "Actually the next two hours. Goodbye"

Sherlock was staring at John.

"What?"

"God you are so wonderful when you get angry. Please take me. Now." And finally John Watson slid carefully into Sherlock.


	30. Chapter 30

John really did not want to go to work. He had emerged from the shower and sat down on a chair. Sherlock was still in bed, unable to move after the thorough shagging he had received from John the night before. Two hours had quickly turned into an all nighter. And now it was a bleary eyed John Watson who was trying to wake up enough to remember how to get dressed. He gulped at a coffee so strong the spoon stood up in it.

In the cage on the table a very tired looking Huggins looked at John from where he was laying on his wheel.

"You all right mate?" Huggins squeaked feebly in reply.

"Yeah me too." John reached into the cage and Huggins, with a supreme effort, flopped on to John's hand and allowed himself to be placed on the table where John stroked him gently and gave him some pineapple. Huggins spat it out.

"Don't like pineapple?" The hamster squeaked in the negative. "Strawberry?" Huggins looked more enthusiastic. John fished about his fruit salad and located a strawberry. There was an indignant rattle from the cage. Hardwicke, fluff sticking up in a series of sinister spikes, bared his teeth at John.

"Come on then." Hardwicke look extremely put out about John muscling in on his action, but calmed down when he realised there was fruit. There was a knock at the door. John left the hamsters discussing the merits of various parts of his breakfast.

"Mycroft. Good morning." Mycroft looked him up and down. Nothing wrong with looking at the menu as long as you ate at home.

"Doctor Watson. Is my brother in?"

"He's still in bed."

"Right. Are your hamsters multiplying? I could have sworn you only had one."

"We're hamster sitting for Tony. That's Hardwicke." Hardwicke looked up at the mention of his name, scowled at Mycroft and then communicated his displeasure to Huggins in a series of bad tempered squeaks. Huggins patted him sympathetically and glared at Mycroft, stomping on the remains of his strawberry for emphasis.

"I'm sure they are up to something."

"You're not suggesting that hamsters plot?" Both rodents looked up at John innocently. Mycroft fingered the buttons of his coat.

"I am sure of it. Anyway. I need to speak to Sherlock."

"Well good luck on getting any sense out of him. I really need to get dressed." John left Mycroft alone with the hamsters and went to his room. Huggins shot a meaningful glance at Mycroft, who shuddered and went to speak to his brother.


	31. Chapter 31

Sherlock looked up at his brother from the remains of his bed. He was very aware that he really needed a shower. Something that was confirmed by the wrinkling of Mycroft's nose.

"Do sit down, Mycroft." Sherlock patted the bed. Mycroft looked at him as though he had lost his mind and perched on the chair after flicking a handkerchief over it.

"So. Was Doctor Watson worth the wait?"

"That's none of your business."

"That good?"

"Amazing. "

"Whoever would have thought? Still they say it's always the quiet ones."

"Have you just come here to ask me ridiculous and personal questions? Or is there a purpose to this visit? How's The Spy Who Shagged Everyone?"

"It's actually Tony I've come to speak about. I have asked him to marry me." Sherlock choked.

"You asked Tony LeStrade to marry you? Have you been smoking something?"

"I love him. The events of the past few days have made me realise that."

"Mycroft! As amusing as I find this and as much as I like to see you suffer. The man is the biggest whore on the planet. How can you even think about marrying him? Mummy will be apoplectic."

"So it's all right for you to carry on with your common little army doctor? She'll be fine with that?"

"She won't know unless you open your enormous mouth and tell her."

"Which I thoroughly intend to do! At least I'm making an honest man out of Tony."

"Honest my arse! And I suppose that makes you the honest woman then?"

"Well we all know who's the woman when it comes to you and GI John don't we?"

"And how do you think Tony is really going to feel when he finds out it's your fault he's got Moriarty's monogram on his chest for the rest of time?"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"I will if you don't stop insulting John." By this time Sherlock and Mycroft were eyeball to eyeball. Sherlock completely naked and aware of how bad he smelt. Mycroft fully dressed and aware of how bad Sherlock smelt.

"You reek of sex Sherlock. For God's sake have a shower."

"At least that smell washes off. The smell of deception is permanent."

"What a lot of Horseshit. Now will you be my best man or not?"

"Yes."

Outside the door two small balls of fluff held a conversation in muted squeaks. They had listened to every word.

"Hey what are you two doing down there?" John was dressed in a nice three piece suit that he hoped made him look older and more Doctor-like. He bent down and scooped up Huggins and Hardwicke. "You know the rules guys. Not on the floor unless you're in the ball, otherwise you could get trodden on."

They allowed themselves to be put back into Huggins cage.

"Sherlock will let you out once Mycroft's gone. Okay?" And John left for work. Huggins and Hardwicke looked meaningfully at the bedroom door. It seemed neither of them liked Mycroft.


	32. Chapter 32

Tony was out of hospital and installed in Mycroft's docklands apartment. Mycroft had insisted on him taking it easy, which seemed to involve him doing nothing whilst Mycroft waited on him. Or at least got people to wait on him. Tony was bored rigid. The novelty of picking out a wedding suit had worn off once Mycroft had rejected seventeen of them in succession and Tony had finally picked a black Edwardian style frock coat with an antique gold waistcoat.

Tony decided he would go and visit Hardwicke, who was still residing in Baker Street, due to Mycroft's dislike of Hamsters and other small furry things. Tony wondered how Mycroft and John Watson got on, considering.

Hardwicke was ecstatic to see his "daddy" and was jumping up and down enthusiastically in his cage as soon as John had shown Tony in.

"How are you feeling?"

"Great. I wish Mycroft would stop treating me like I'll break though. He's driving me mad." Hardwicke rattled the cage impatiently. Tony reached into the cage and the small tweedy hamster hopped onto his hand where he immediately began to squeak in an agitated manner.

"You know sometimes I think he's trying to tell me something. What's up Hardwicke?"

"I don't think he likes Mycroft." John translated. "He's not the only one. No offence."

"It's fine. Nothing I haven't heard before. He probably knows Mycroft isn't keen on Hamsters. I think he has an allergy." Hardwicke stopped squeaking and looked very thoughtful. Tony stroked him behind the ear. Hardwicke rolled over so Tony could stroke his underside. It seemed Tony's considerable charms worked on hamsters as well. John was finding it very distracting. A combination of that voice and the aftershave and John Watson was trying to remember he was supposed to be with Sherlock and failing miserably. Hardwicke was almost purring.

On the table John's phone rang and from nowhere Huggins appeared, swiped the screen expertly with his foot and then stomped on the Speakerphone icon.

"Sherlock taught him how to answer the phone." John explained. "Hello."

"Hello John?"

"Hi Sherlock."

"I'm on my way back. Do we need anything?" This was Sherlock's new considerate policy.

"Just some fruit." Huggins squeaked "No pineapple. Okay see you in a bit."

"Sherlock taught his hamster to answer the phone?"

"You sound surprised. He's taught Hardwicke to send text messages." Tony looked at the hamster passed out in his hand. "Any way. Do you want to stop for lunch? I'm making Shepherd's Pie."

"Shepherd's Pie? Oh God, yes please."

Tony placed Hardwicke gently on the table and went to watch John in the kitchen. Huggins poked Hardwicke with his foot. There was a muted conversation between the two and then Huggins looked significantly at John's phone.

Unaware of what the Hamsters were up to, and also unaware that Tony was staring at his backside, John set about making lunch.


	33. Chapter 33

Huggins scrolled purposely through the caller ID pictures on John's phone until he found the one he was looking for: Mycroft. Hardwicke was keeping an eye, and ear out for the activity in the kitchen, and squeaked to tell Huggins that now would be a good time to make that call. Huggins carefully pushed the green phone icon with his foot and then once he was confident he had done that correctly, pushed the hands free icon. He sat back looking extremely pleased with himself. Hardwicke poddled over and hugged him.

"Hello?" Mycroft's voice on the other end. Hardwicke moved forwards to crap on the phone, but was held back. "Hello?" Mycroft sounded slightly irritated. "Doctor Watson?" And then he stopped talking and listened.

"Bloody hell John! That's enormous." Mycroft could hear Tony's voice saying.

"Everyone says that." There was a hint of pride in John's voice.

"It's so much bigger than mine. Someone your size should not have one that big."

"You take what you're given."

"Can I hold it?"

"All right but just be careful. I don't want it going off accidently and making a mess." Mycroft was slowly coming to the boil on the other end of the line. Of course Mycroft had no idea that Tony was currently admiring John's revolver.

"Tony can you move over a bit. I need to put this in." Mycroft was deciding which one to kill first.

"Yeah. Sorry. Not much space in here."

"Can you bend over a bit, and I can just slip it in? Yeah that's it." Mycroft had heard quite enough. And hung up. John looked very pleased that his Shepherd's pie was now safely in the oven and cooking. And then he noticed the hamsters.

"Hey what are you two doing with my phone?" Huggins looked up innocently. Hardwicke scowled and then looked at Tony in what he clearly thought was an appealing manner.

"I wished I spoke hamster. Really I do."

Greg LeStrade was looking miserably into the Khaki depths of his Scotland Yard Coffee. His brother was getting married, to someone he was quite sure was a dangerous bastard. John Watson was going out with, or at least doing things with Sherlock Holmes, the soon to be Dangerous Bastard-in-law. It seemed that even the cute hamster had got a date. And Greg? Well as usual he was all on his own. And that made him unbelievably mad. So mad that he stormed out of his office with the express purpose of going and making someone else miserable and walked smack into a solid wall of suit.

"Sorry. Wasn't looking where I was going." He bent down to help the man pick up his spilled folders. And stopped. Because Greg was suddenly face to face with a pair of bright china blue eyes. The owner of which was so good looking he would give Tony a run for his money. Medium height and build, Platinum Blond, slightly aristocratic looks. No wedding ring either.

"Inspector LeStrade." He held out his hand and smiled warmly, trying to ignore his heart thudding in his ears.

"Jason Silver. I'm your new Sergeant. Sir. I was told to report to you. See if you wanted me to do anything for you?"

Greg bit back what he really wanted to say.

"Well, shall we start by giving you the tour? And I think you should meet one of our consultants." Because if anyone could tell Greg about his new Sergeant. It was Sherlock Holmes.


	34. Chapter 34

In hindsight, perhaps the first person Greg introduced his new Sergeant to should probably not have been Sherlock Holmes. Especially not a Sherlock, who on his way home from his fruit shopping had decided to call in to the St. Bart's mortuary and throttle a corpse. Still the deed had been done, and Sergeant Silver had come out of it reasonably unscathed.

"Sherlock, this is Jason Silver. He's my new sergeant. He's just arrived."

"Are you tripping them up as they come through the door now Gregory?" LeStrade ignored him.

"This is Sherlock Holmes. We consult him on our more difficult cases." Jason held out his hand and smiled warmly, taking stock of Sherlock's slender body and cutthroat cheekbones.

"Very flattering Sergeant, but I already have a boyfriend." Jason blushed.

"I'm sorry sir?"

"You don't have to call me sir, I'm not a policeman. You were checking me out. And your sweaty palms and elevated heart rate tells me you like what you see. The Inspector here, however, does not have a boyfriend. And underneath that suit I am told he is rather well put together." It was Greg's turn to blush.

"Sherlock."

"Although he does have a twin brother, who I would say is probably more "

"There are two of you?" Jason looked confused.

"No. There's only one of me. My brother is engaged to Sherlock's big brother Mycroft."

"There are two of them?" Jason looked really confused and slightly worried.

"I'm afraid so."

"Was there anything else you needed LeStrade?" Sherlock's phone bleeped.

SMS: Dinner nearly ready. Hurry up. JW.

"John's making dinner. Why don't you come round to Baker Street?" Greg and Jason accepted the invitation.

John was just setting the table and placing the hamsters in a more secure area, and Tony was draining vegetables in the sink when the front door was kicked open. Whatever Mycroft had been expecting to see, it had not been the little Tableaux of domestic bliss before him. Which somehow made him even madder. John dropped Huggins on the table, who immediately went and hid behind the mustard to watch the show. Hardwicke squeaked with displeasure at being left out of the action.

"How could you? The wedding's off." And Mycroft punched Tony straight in the nose sending him, and a saucepan of peas reeling against the sink.

"What? I only came to see Hardwicke." Tony clutched his nose.

"I bloody well bet you saw someone's hard something!" Mycroft lunged forwards again with murder in his eyes.

"Mycroft? What the hell are you talking about?" John held him back. The larger man struggled but found he was held tight.

"As for you, you little tart. Sherlock was right about you being a prick tease." John was so surprised he let go. And incredibly mad at the wild accusations being flung around when all him and Tony had done was make dinner. And talk about guns and football and Doctor Who. And hamsters.

"Mycroft. What exactly are we being accused of?"

"I heard the two of you earlier. When you accidently dialled my number. Sat on your phone did you Doctor? Very careless. I overheard the whole sordid thing."

"Mycroft. My phone has been on the table all afternoon. No one's been near it except..." John looked at a very guilty looking Huggins. "And I most certainly have not had sex with your fiancé." Upon which revelation the door opened and Sherlock appeared with Greg and Jason.

"Hi John. Is dinner nearly ready?" And Mycroft turned on his brother for round two.


	35. Chapter 35

It had taken a while to get everyone calmed down. Tony had recovered enough from the blow to his nose to start one of those silent conversations with his brother. Which of course both hamsters were listening in on. Sherlock and Mycroft's conversation was anything but silent. They were currently hurling insults at one another in French in Sherlock's bedroom. John was left trying to be polite to the rather dishy Detective Sergeant Greg LeStrade had turned up with and hoping his Shepherd's pie was not going to be ruined.

"So you're a Doctor?"

"Yes. Ex army."

"Sorry, which one are you going out with? The mad one with the cheekbones, the shouty ginger bloke or the guy with the broken nose?"

"The mad one with the cheekbones. Although I'm open to offers." John could not believe he had just said that.

"Really?" Jason Silver coughed a little, but smiled warmly. "Oh you've got hamsters. I love hamsters!"

"The blond ones ours. The tweedy guy, we're just looking after." Huggins looked smugly up at Jason Silver. He was obviously enjoying the chaos he had managed to cause. "He is so cute." Huggins was going to be unbearable for the rest of the day.

"Don't let it fool you for a moment. Under that cute fluffy exterior there is a very determined little character." Jason turned back to John and smiled.

"Oh. I like cute things that surprise me." John had a feeling they were no longer talking about hamsters. Huggins looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Do you want a beer?"

"Love one. I've got two hamsters myself. Burke and Hare." John handed him a bottle.

"You should bring them round. They can all have a play date. And plot the end of the world. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Because I'm starving." John set about dishing out the Shepherd's pie.

In Sherlock's room Mycroft was sat tearfully on the edge of the bed whilst his nonplussed brother went through the motions of comforting him.

"Mycroft. I can assure you that John and Tony have not had sex. If they had John would be unable to look at me. He has a traitorous conscience, and is consequently a very bad liar."

"It's just that Tony is so desirable. And I get insanely jealous whenever anyone else looks at him."

"Well I'm afraid you are going to have to get used to the idea that people are going to look at Tony. If you pick the most beautiful thing in the shop, you can't get upset when everyone starts admiring it. Now I really think you ought to go and say sorry to him before he changes his mind and decides he wants to marry that delectable thing Greg just brought in. And John's Shepherd's pie is fantastic"

Mycroft sniffed and dabbed his eyes with a large blue silk handkerchief. That pie did smell rather good.


	36. Chapter 36

John was feeling slightly self conscious as he made his way out of the Vets surgery with a small animal carrier. Inside he could just see the concerned nose of Hardwicke nuzzling up against Huggins. Huggins had been most out of sorts after biting Mycroft. Sherlock claimed Mycroft was attempting to poison his hamster and there had been another argument. The upshot of it all had been that two days later John had found himself packing Huggins into a small crate for transport to the local Vets. Hardwicke had made such a fuss that in the end John had relented and packed him in the crate as well, with a supply of grapes.

It seemed Huggins was just a little under the weather and was given an injection and some drops to put in his food. But he seemed to have perked up a lot by the time John was two hundred yards up the street. He could hear the sound of excited squeaking coming from inside the crate. In fact he was paying so much attention to the squeaking he nearly didn't notice Jason Silver.

"Hi John!" The detective Sergeant was looking rather nice in his off duty clothes.

"Jason!" John knew he was blushing. "Day off?"

"Yes. Yes it is. Just been doing some shopping. Oh is one of the hamsters not well?" He noticed the carrier.

"He's fine. Just needed a shot." There was a squeak of confirmation from the crate. "He wasn't keen on the shot."

"Do you want to come in for a cup of tea? I'm just up there." He indicated some windows above a Sandwich shop.

"Yeah. Are the hamsters okay though?"

"They'll be fine they can meet my two."

Jason's flat was considerably tidier than 221B and despite its small size was actually rather nice inside. Jason put the kettle on. John noticed a curious rattle from over in the corner of the room. And became aware he was being observed by a large Gold coloured hamster with long whiskers, and a smaller gingery red hamster.

"Don't mind Burke and Hare. They get a bit nervous with new people." Jason placed the tea down on a table. "Take a seat. Sorry. I've only got the one sofa. Not much room for anything else."

John smiled politely and squashed onto the sofa next to Jason. Very aware that their legs were touching.

"So how's work? "

"Good. Inspector LeStrade's a really nice guy to work for." There was a tone of disappointment in Jason's voice.

"So you and him are not...?"

"Oh God no. He would never date anyone lower in rank. It just wouldn't be proper. Apparently" Make that a tone of bitterness.

"Right. Sorry."

"How's it going with Sherlock?"

"Not great. He's in one of his moods. He's ignored me for the past three days. And now he's off his tits on Nicotine patches."

"Oh." They sat in silence for a few moments. Interrupted only by the occasional squeak from four hamsters getting better acquainted. Jason's leg brushed against John's. Jason smiled and reached an arm around John's shoulders.

"How many bedrooms did you say this place had?"

"Just the one. Want to see?" The tea and hamsters were abandoned.

Inside their crate Huggins and Hardwicke had a hurried conversation, communicated the salient points to the other two who seemed to be in agreement and then nuzzled up against each other. They figured it might be a long wait.


	37. Chapter 37

Things between Mycroft and his fiancé were a little strained to say the least. Generally it wasn't a great idea to accuse the man you were going to marry of cheating on you and then punch him in the face. They sat silently opposite each other at the Diogenes club. Mycroft, who always ate when he got nervous, was on his third lot of bacon and eggs. Tony had eaten half a slice of toast and was looking rather fed up.

"We can't carry on like this Mycroft."

"Like what?"

"Like every time you think I've done something that I haven't, I'm afraid I'm going to get posted to Botswana. Can't you just cut the legs off my trousers like normal people?"

"Do normal people do that?"

"Sometimes."

"I said I was sorry for hitting you."

"The hitting is fine. In fact you punch like a little old lady. However what is not fine is you sending me on dangerous missions just because you got drunk."

"How did you know?"

"You and your brother are not the only ones that can take the facts and find the truth. Who else is there who could order a double o agent into Panama at short notice?"

"I see your point."

"So now you need to decide what you really want." Tony got up and left Mycroft alone with his thoughts and his bacon and eggs.

Huggins was slightly confused. The red headed hamster was smiling at him. She was actually smiling at him. He moved a little closer to Hardwicke and scowled. It was making him nervous. Females were very confusing. Hardwicke seemed to be getting on rather well with the other hamster though. The big golden one. Huggins was feeling rather small and inadequate until Hardwicke had given him a bit of a nuzzle and squeaked at him to cheer up. And despite the thought that this Jason, was rather nice and seemed to like John, and Sherlock had mostly been ignoring everyone for days, Huggins was now having second thoughts about his latest piece of matchmaking. And that injection was making him feel a little bit wobbly.

John was feeling equally wobbly in Jason's bedroom. They stood on opposite sides of the bed looking at each other.

"Okay. This was a stupid idea."

"Yes. Absolutely. Do you want a beer John?"

"Yes please." They went back to the kitchen. "Greg LeStrade? Would you?"

"Yes. But he's a stickler for protocol."

"What if you were promoted?"

"I don't think that's likely in the near future."

"I'm sure we could arrange something. Help you along."

"How?"

"You forget. I'm going out with a genius. And the hamsters are pretty inventive as well. Do you know the little blond one can type?"

"God. I thought mine were bad. In fact do you think they should be left together?"

The four hamsters seemed to be behaving themselves. They were all asleep. Huggins, Hardwicke and Hare leaned up against Burke, who was much bigger and obviously more comfortable. It was all rather sweet. Neither John nor Jason noticed one beady little black eye watching them keenly, as the red hamster pretended to sleep.


	38. Chapter 38

Huggins was not having a good day. The injection from earlier had made him feel rather unwell, Hardwicke was asleep, Sherlock was on a case and ignoring everyone, John was busy writing up notes and Huggins had the distinct impression there was something he was missing. That red hamster, The Woman, was up to something. And his fuzzy brain was failing to deduce what it was.

He was just curling up next to John's laptop charger, which was nice and warm, when there was a knock at the door.

"Oh Hi Tony."

"Hi John. Just come to visit Hardwicke. How's my little furry guy?"

"He's asleep. Does Mycroft know you're here?"

"I don't care." Huggins squeaked hopefully from the table. "Hello handsome!"

"Be careful, he's a bit under the weather. Had to take him to the vets. He's not been the same since he bit Mycroft." Tony picked up the small blond hamster and stroked him. Huggins thought the day had improved somewhat.

"You have my sympathies Huggins." Huggins rolled over onto his back and let Tony stroke his belly. The man really was irresistible. John rolled his eyes.

"So it's not going well then?"

"No. He's having a hard time grasping that you can't just use your power and influence to get your own way." Tony moved awkwardly. "And these stitches are killing me."

"Want me to have a look?"

"Would you?" Tony was already unbuttoning his shirt, having placed Huggins safely in his shirt pocket where he could offer his opinion.

The wounds on Tony's chest still spelt out JM, which served as a constant reminder to Mycroft of Tony's infidelity and his own bad judgement. And they would leave scars. A small area of the stitches looked sore and swollen. John placed a hand carefully on the affected area.

"Ow. Bloody hell John, that hurts."

"Sorry. I think you've got an infection. I'll write you a prescription for some high strength antibiotics and some antibacterial soap. It's nothing to worry about." Huggins squeaked sympathetically and was rewarded with a tickle behind his ear.

And of course it was just at the moment John was running a final check over Tony's chest to make sure it was only a mild infection that Sherlock chose to come home. And what he saw was Tony, with his shirt open, whilst John Watson and his hamster admired the view. Sherlock considered it to be a massive betrayal.

"Oh God here we go again." John sighed. Huggins retreated to the bottom of Tony's pocket. Tony decided it was time to leave.


	39. Chapter 39

Tony was just putting the key in the lock of Mycroft's front door when he became aware of a small furry squeaking in his shirt pocket. Upon opening said pocket he was greeted by a very cross looking Huggins who was gesturing wildly in a way that clearly said "What do you think you are doing?"

"Oh Crap. Sorry mate. Look I'll just get my stuff then I'll take you back okay?" Huggins looked marginally less angry. He was hungry and he missed Hardwicke. And he was not happy about being taken into the lair of Mycroft. Or at least he wasn't until Tony disabled the six alarms and walked into the bedroom to get his stuff, and Huggins caught site of a pile of neatly folded, recently laundered Silk Undershorts with MH embroidered on them.

He squeaked at Tony to be let out of the pocket. And when that didn't work he wriggled.

"Okay. I'm going to put you down on the bed, but don't eat anything and don't get lost." These sounded like reasonable terms. And whilst Tony was collecting his clothing, Huggins turned his attention to rubbing himself thoroughly over the intimate areas of Mycroft's pants. When Tony turned around, Huggins was sat quietly on the bed. He held up his arms to be picked up and was put back into Tony's shirt pocket. It wasn't too bad. Tony did smell very nice; he could see what Hardwicke was on about.

"Right let's get you home before I get accused of hamster-napping."

Xxxx

"He's kidnapped my hamster!" Sherlock was shouting. Hardwicke was rattling the cage bars, a worried expression on his face.

"No he hasn't" John was beginning to wish he was back in Afghanistan.

"Yes he has. He's fondled my boyfriend, molested my brother and now he's stolen my hamster."

"He did not fondle me. I was examining him. He has an infection. I'm a Doctor, remember."

"Oh yes. Your excuse for everything. I'm a Doctor. Let me examine you." And then Sherlock promptly burst into tears. Over in the corner it sounded like Hardwicke was doing the same.

Fortunately at that moment John's phone rang. After a brief conversation, John took a deep breath and turned to face Sherlock.

"That was Tony. He's bringing your Hamster back. The little bugger stowed away in his pocket. He's quite safe, just a bit disgruntled. Tony will be here in five minutes. Pull yourself together. And be nice." Sherlock sniffed. Over in the corner Hardwicke gave a relieved squeak.


	40. Chapter 40

The reuniting of Huggins and Hardwicke would have been enough to melt the stoniest of hearts. As soon as Tony arrived and placed Huggins back in the cage the two hamsters had spent several minutes nuzzling one another and holding an intense conversation, with several pointed looks at Sherlock and Tony before retreating into the hamster house. A few moments after that there had been the distinct sounds of two hamsters getting it on. John tried to block all thoughts of gay hamster sex from his mind. If he survived the week, he was sure he was going to need therapy.

"Yeah. Sorry about that. I forgot he was in my pocket. I'll be off then." Tony smiled apologetically once more and made for the door.

"No don't leave just yet Tony. I think we should have a little chat." Sherlock was being nice. John had forgotten just how deadly that could be.

"Okay."

"John do make some tea. And perhaps a sandwich?" John scowled at Sherlock. He was certain something was afoot.

Xxxx

At Jason Silver's flat a certain red-headed hamster was persuading her long suffering partner to open the door to the cage. Burke had long since realised that there was no point in arguing, and it was best to just go along with whatever nefarious plans were being put into operation. Although this one did seem quite reasonable. Getting daddy a boyfriend. Because he was rather lonely and spent his evenings watching terrible films on the Sci-Fi channel and drinking something called Vodka. Burke had tried it once. He'd fallen over, unable to coordinate his four legs in to doing what he wanted. Hare had been very cross with him.

Once Burke had opened the cage and Hare had slipped out onto the table, she began to peruse the case notes. The little cute blond man had been perfectly correct. If Jason solved this case, he might get promoted, and then the really dishy man called Greg would marry him and then everyone would be happy. Greg seemed to like Burke and Hare. He had brought them some honey treats the last time he came round. And he smelled nice. Grasping a highlighter pen in both paws, Hare began to illuminate what she felt were the pertinent clues to solving the case. Although, she conceded, it would be better if the cute little blond hamster with the tweedy boyfriend was about. He seemed very clever.

Xxxxx

Mycroft was ten minutes into his meeting with the American ambassador when he began to feel a little uncomfortable in the trouser area. It felt as though his Undershorts were too tight. Not that wasn't a distinct possibility with the amount of junk food he had managed to put away in the past two weeks, but still, they had been okay when he'd first put them on. Perhaps they had used too much starch? That sort of thing used to happen at school. But this didn't feel like an over starching. At an appropriate moment in the discussion, he excused himself to the bathroom to examine the problem in more detail. Upon lowering his underwear he discovered that he had an angry rash all over his genitals, which were rather sore and swollen. Obviously an allergic reaction to something. But the only thing he was allergic to was hamsters. And then Mycroft decided it was time to kill his brother.


	41. Chapter 41

Jason could not remember highlighting his notes. But then he hadn't slept for thirty two hours and was having trouble remembering a great many things, like clean socks for example. He figured he must have done it at some point and forgotten. He skimmed through the yellow highlighted sections, then reread them twice. And realised suddenly that the answer had been staring him in the face all the time. The brother in law, his statement was full of inconsistencies; he couldn't possibly have been where he said he was at the time of the murder. So bloody obvious. Jason smiled. Burke poddled across the table in search of food looking hopefully at Jason.

"Just got to make a phone call old thing." He tickled Burke behind the ear and as he was dialling hoped Greg was not going to mind being woken up.

Xxx

John had woken up to the very nice sensation of Sherlock licking his earlobe. And an enthusiastic hand was working its way slowly down his body towards his groin and the very large morning erection that was currently residing in that area. It was like Sherlock was a different person. John opened one eye just to check it was actually Sherlock, the way things had been going recently it was probably wise. Fortunately it was. One Consulting Detective with a very concentrated expression on his face.

Sherlock had been put in a really good mood by Tony, who had somehow managed to piss Mycroft off so badly that the elder Holmes was in danger of exploding. Or something like that. After Sherlock and Tony had their little Tete a Tete the previous evening, and cleared the air, Sherlock had decided Tony was all right after all. He was very good with the hamsters and treated Mycroft with the contempt he so rightfully deserved. Sherlock decided he quite liked him. He'd even offered him a biscuit.

"John?"

"hmmmm?"

"John are you awake?"

"No. This is a recording."

"John. Wake up." Sherlock prodded him.

"What's the matter?"

"I was wondering if we might..."

"Oh yes. Hop on." And Sherlock very enthusiastically climbed on top of a still half asleep John Watson.

Xxx

Mycroft was examining his bedroom carefully. For two reasons. First he was looking for clues which would implicate one of those little furry bastards in his pant sabotage. Second it was difficult to move in any other way than carefully with your testicles swollen to three times their normal size. He peered through daddy's magnifying glass at the duvet cover and spotted two short blond hairs. So either John Watson was responsible for the travesty with Mycroft's underwear or it was Sherlock's horrible little rat thing. Either way, Mycroft was blaming Sherlock and as soon as he was able to get his trousers on Sherlock was in big trouble.


	42. Chapter 42

"Why are you being such an arse Greg? "

"That's rich coming from you. Your love life is like an episode of Desperate Housewives."

"We're not talking about me. Why won't you ask him out?"

"Because he's a sergeant and I'm a detective inspector and it's just not appropriate."

"Okay. So if you'd been going out and you were both Sergeants and then you got promoted would you have dumped him?"

"That's different."

"How? It's either inappropriate or it isn't. And you do like him don't you? "

"Yes."

"Because let's face it. He's hot."

"Yes. But it's impossible." Greg said in a small voice and then his bottom lip started trembling.

"It's okay Greg. Nothing is really impossible. Just sometimes a bit improbable." Tony put his arms around his brother and kissed the top of his head. "Shush. We can work this out."

And of course that was the exact moment Jason Silver chose to walk in to the DIs office, after all the door had been open. Jason was greeted by the sight of Greg LeStrade tearfully hugging a tall man in a long black coat. The same man who had been having the intense discussion with him in John's flat the other day. In all the confusion they had not got round to introductions and Jason had no clue who Tony was only that Greg had left with him soon after John had served up the pie. Jason looked at the handsome man currently kissing the top of his Inspector's head. And dropping the files he had been carrying on the desk, ran out of the room before he made a fool of himself.

Someone was running along the corridor behind him.

"Hey Jason. Sergeant Silver?" Just what he needed, the angry boyfriend come to abuse him.

"Yes Sir? Can I help you?"

"I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Tony, Greg's brother. "

"His brother?" Jason's heart did a little dance.

"Yes. We're twins. Look, about my brother. You do like him don't you?" That man had a very sexy voice which was causing Jason's neurons to malfunction slightly.

"Yes."

"Good. That's a start." Tony smiled.

xxxx

Huggins and Hardwicke were just enjoying breakfast together. John had set them on the table with specific instruction to leave his laptop and phone well alone, in exchange for banana and raspberry. And the two Hamsters, who seemed to be getting more loved up as the days passed, were nuzzling and nibbling. John was a little worried about what would happen when Hardwicke had to go back to Tony's. He wasn't quite sure how to deal with a heartbroken Huggins. Perhaps they could persuade Tony to let them keep Hardwicke?

But being a Hamster Agony Uncle was the least of John's worries as the door of the flat was kicked open and a very disgruntled looking Mycroft Holmes barged in. Hardwicke immediately squeaked angrily and stood protectively in front of Huggins. Huggins spat out his raspberry and crapped his displeasure at the intrusion. And Mycroft looked coldly at John and said.

"Where is my bastard little brother?"


	43. Chapter 43

As a serial tart Tony LeStrade knew how to get what he wanted. And he could also use his vast lexicon of experience for the benefit of others. Like his brother. And his really nice Detective Sergeant. Tony sipped his coffee and gave Jason Silver an appraising stare.

"I hear you did really well on that double murder case?"

"Yes. I managed to work out the brother in law's alibi was fake." Jason Silver was feeling a little uncomfortable. Inspector LeStrade's brother was gorgeous and oozing sex appeal from every orifice. When they had arrived in the cafe an excited gaggle of sixteen year old girls had marched up and asked for his autograph, mistaking him for one of the Harry Potter actors. Tony had been very nice about it. And then he had smiled at a waitress and made her drop things. And the little barista behind the counter had gone bright red when Tony had sauntered over to ask him for more sugar. Jason was debating whether or not to arrest him for sexual harassment of everybody.

"Okay. It's quite simple. My brother's an idiot. With morals. And a terrible sense of propriety which, fortunately, I have not inherited. What he actually needs is a good seeing to. Then he'll be fine. So we just need to engineer a situation which you can take advantage of."

"Sorry I don't follow."

"We get him drunk. You have sex. Then he wakes up in the morning. Realises the world hasn't ended because he's slept with his sergeant then you can get on with going out and having a nice time. How's that sound?"

"Okay. And you think that will work?"

"It has a reasonable chance of success."

"Let's do that then. How's the wedding plans going?"

"It's off." Tony took another gulp of coffee.

"Oh. I'm sorry. It was Sherlock's brother you were marrying?"

"Yes. And believe me, out of the two of them Sherlock's the most normal."

"Bloody hell."

Xxx

"That little furry bastard sabotaged my underwear!" John wondered if Mycroft knew just how ridiculous he sounded.

"Mycroft he's a Hamster not a master criminal."

"He's your bloody Hamster. He's not going to be normal." Huggins had decided the best place for him was in the safety of John's shirt pocket, where he was currently shaking nervously. Mycroft had threatened to have all kinds of unpleasant things done to him. Hardwicke was made of sterner stuff and had been edging closer to Mycroft with his teeth bared before John had intervened and stuffed him, protesting vigorously back in the cage.

"If you touch my hamster I will kill you, you fat f***. Don't think I don't know about your previous record for Hamster-cide. I have never forgotten what you did to Mr. Truffle. You've most likely contracted some kind of STD from your tart of a boyfriend. Do not blame me."

"Tony is no longer my boyfriend. We have called off the engagement. He's being posted to Gibraltar in a month."

"Does he know that?"

"Yes. In fact he volunteered." In his cage Hardwicke looked a little tearful. Daddy hadn't mentioned that at all. But maybe that meant he could stay with Huggins after all? Huggins poked his nose out of John's pocket, scowling at Mycroft. Something was not quite right.


	44. Chapter 44

"I hate to say this..." John began.

"But you're going to say it anyway?" Sherlock's ears were still throbbing from Mycroft's shouting.

"Mycroft was a lot easier to handle when he was with Tony."

"Yes. He's a completely different kind of bastard when he's in love."

"He's more predictable anyway." John rubbed a soothing hand across Sherlock's chest. He had never seen his flatmate/ colleague/partner/ boyfriend so upset by. It was probably more to do with the threats upon the person of Huggins. Sherlock had moved towards the utensil rack shouting something about Mycroft's arse and a potato masher and at that point John had firmly asked Mycroft to leave. Huggins was still a little upset. It had taken ten minutes of soothing noises, a very theatrical demonstration that the vacuum cleaner was safely in the cupboard and a large piece of banana to coax him back out of John's pocket. He was now in his cage on Sherlock's bedside table, being comforted by Hardwicke, who was asleep but with one eye open. Huggins was curled up beside his tweedy friend, a tiny little scrap of blond fur, just visible, and still shaking a little.

"Mycroft is a git. He has always been a git, and he will die a git. A fat, unloved, friendless git. Him and Tony deserved one another."

"Tony's not so bad. He's a bit of a tart but he's actually a nice bloke underneath it all. And if I looked liked Tony, I'd probably be that much of a whore as well."

"Well I'm very glad you don't look like him. You are perfect as you are." And for extra emphasis Sherlock turned over and hugged John very tightly.

Xxx

"Morning Sir!" Jason Silver said brightly. Greg looked up from his pile of paperwork at his dishy Detective Sergeant who was holding a mug of tea and some Jaffa cakes.

"Morning Jason." Greg took the offered refreshments. "Excellent work by the way. The brother in law cracked under interrogation. Confessed to the whole thing."

"Thank you Sir."

"It's traditional that we go out for a celebratory pint."

"It's 9 o'clock in the morning."

"Perhaps later then?"

"Yes. That would be great." Jason was beginning to see the hand of Tony LeStrade at work. And was also rather glad he had worn his best suit. In fact it had been at Hare's insistence, as she had squeaked at him with intense disapproval until he had taken his best suit out of the wardrobe and put the navy blue one back. And Burke had chosen his tie. Burke seemed to have excellent taste in accessories. Although Jason was not about to let on that his Hamsters had dressed him. He had a feeling that might not get him the promotion he was hoping for.


	45. Chapter 45

John found himself in the very strange position of being everyone's number one place to sleep. Sherlock was snuggled up against him, a possessive arm across John's chest, and a rather silly smile plastered across his delicate features. And John had two hamsters curled up asleep on his stomach. How that had happened he didn't quite know. But Huggins was snoozing happily having trampled the hair on John's belly into something approximating a nest. And of course Hardwicke had made such a fuss that John had no option but to let him hop on board as well. It really wasn't dignified. Especially as Hardwicke's whiskers kept tickling John's belly button. And John really needed the toilet.

He carefully scooped the hamsters up with one hand and leant across to put them back in their cage. Hardwicke opened his eyes and scowled.

"I need the loo." Hardwicke seemed to think this was acceptable, but placed a protective paw around Huggins. Then John carefully slipped out from under Sherlock's arm, in order to tiptoe into the en-suite. And maybe make a sandwich. And some tea. Being everyone's favourite pillow was hard work.

The Cop And Robber was fairly quiet for a Friday. Greg balanced two pints of Stella, a vodka and coke, a J2o and several packets of pork scratchings over to the table in the corner where Jason Silver was sat looking slightly confused, with Sergeant Donovan on one side of him and Anderson on the other. This was not the date he had been expecting. He thought about making his excuses, but LeStrade had just brought more drinks. So it would be bad manners to leave now. Although he was getting a little bit annoyed with the way Donovan kept squeezing his knee under the table. Maybe she thought it was Anderson's knee?

Of course whilst Jason was sat there thinking that Tony had screwed up a bit, what he did not realise was Tony never screwed up. Not like that any way. And whilst he didn't usually do his white knight routine, Tony had received a desperate text message from his brother. Help was on its way.

It arrived five minutes later. In uniform. Donovan turned her entire attention to the man slinking towards their table. Dressed in Navy dress blues.

"Did someone order a stripper?"

"You wish sweetheart." Was Tony's reply. Without being asked the barman brought a JD and Coke over for Tony and winked at him. Tony smiled back with a look that clearly said _Later._ And turned his attention to the table's occupants.

"Who are you?" Anderson looked flustered.

"DI Lestrade's big brother. I know who you are. Doctor Anderson."

"Yes that's right." Anderson stammered, suddenly becoming very interested in his J2O. He felt like he was being sexually harassed.

"And you must be Sergeant Donovan. Sally. Hi."

"Hello Sailor." She held out her hand and Tony grabbed it, pulled her to her feet and kissed her passionately and somewhat obscenely for thirty seconds. During which time Sally Donovan got the opportunity to scout out his muscular body and feel the rather well filled front of his trousers grind against her. Anderson was nearly apoplectic with rage.

"Hey that's my..." And then he realised he couldn't finish that sentence with anything approaching dignity.

"That's your Wife? No? Oh your bit on the side!" Greg was pretending to be embarrassed but deep down he was really enjoying the show.

"But... you..." And Tony went in for the kill.

"Oh I'm sorry are you feeling left out?" And Anderson was treated to the most passionate kiss he had ever experienced. And it was so good he forgot for twenty seconds that he was actually being kissed by a man, with tongues. Tony let go of him and Anderson sagged back into his seat. Anderson would never learn that when you got into a hole the best thing to do was stop digging.

"Did you see that? I've just been assaulted. He put his tongue in my mouth."

"You put yours in mine." Sally Donovan had seen quite enough.

"Come on. Let's go." And she practically dragged Anderson out of the pub before he could start a fight she knew he had no hope in hell of ever winning. Tony looked rather smug.

"Simple when you know how." He downed his drink, and swiped a packet of Pork Scratchings from the table. "I'll leave you boys to celebrate in peace. I've got a little job to do." Tony nodded to the barman and left Greg and Jason sitting rather stunned.

Jason felt like he had just survived a hurricane.

"Is he always like that?"

"No. Sometimes he's a lot worse." Greg smiled and downed the rest of his pint.


	46. Chapter 46

Greg seemed to have got over his problems relating to lower ranks. It was amazing what several pints of lager and a few whiskies could do. And now he was sitting on Jason's sofa with a small redheaded hamster lavishing attention on him whilst Jason made coffee. In fact the hamster looked quite knowing as it raced up and down his arm and tickled his ear with her whiskers. And rather pleased that Greg was there. She looked even more pleased when Jason had scooped her up and gently placed her back in her cage and Greg and Jason had made for the bedroom.

As first times went, it wasn't bad at all. Much better than the disaster with John Watson. Not that John was bad or anything, but Jason had the virtue of being a more normal size, which was less intimidating and painful. And whilst Jason wasn't as well stacked as John, he was very nice to look at. And his hamsters seemed friendly. And not psychotic. Greg rolled over onto his back and hugged Jason as he slept. He was really going to have to recommend Jason for promotion very soon.

Mycroft was drunk. At four in the afternoon. Which could mean disaster for any number of small countries. And he was on his second tub of Baileys Haagen-Dazs. And he didn't care. He sat listlessly on the sofa and wallowed in his misery. And lamented his own stupidity. Because Tony, for all his faults had been the best lover he'd ever had. And he had really liked Tony. Really liked him. Mycroft looked at his phone; there were several missed calls from work. He didn't care. He took another swig from the bottle of Vodka. They could bloody well run the world without him for a day.

Sherlock was busy teaching Huggins to email. This was a skill John thought that hamster could well do without learning. God only knows what kind of terrible havoc could be unleashed upon the World Wide Web. Especially as Huggins would then pass on the information to all the rest of them. Huggins, Hardwicke, Burke and Hare all emailing, like the Four Hamsters of the Apocalypse. Not a nice thought. But John had to confess he felt a small surge of pride as his little furry mate mastered the art of creating and sending. Even if his first mail had been a scan of his own bottom that he sent to Mycroft's phone. Huggins looked very pleased with himself.

"Sherlock, should you really be teaching him to do things like that?"

"Why not? Huggins is Hyper intelligent. It stops him getting bored."

"Mycroft won't be happy."

"Mycroft is never happy. Unless he's interfering. Misery is his default setting. "

"Poor Mycroft. Perhaps he'd be happier if he found someone."

"He did find someone and he screwed it up. By sending that someone on a suicide mission. What my brother basically needs is someone who will do as he's told when he's told and doesn't mind being screwed by a fat old man."

"Mycroft's not a fat old man Sherlock."

"He will be one day. I think it's called planning for the future."

"Well surely we can find someone nice for him?" John genuinely felt sorry for Mycroft.

"Boring!"

"So you're telling me that the great Sherlock Holmes, who can bring his powers of deduction and reasoning to solve any crime, any mystery at all, can't do something as simple as pick someone who's suitable to go out with his brother?"

"I didn't say that!" Sherlock was so easy to play sometimes.

"So you are saying it's impossible?"

"I didn't say that either!"

"Bet you twenty quid you can't find someone."

"You're on!" And Sherlock immediately began to show Huggins how to surf dating websites.


	47. Chapter 47

Sherlock had discounted several possible partners for Mycroft. He had discounted all of their friends and acquaintances on the grounds that they already knew Mycroft and would never agree to go out with him. He was getting nowhere.

"What does Mycroft actually like?" he was addressing no one. Although Huggins squeaked sarcastically at him.

"Apart from vast quantities of junk food and being done up the arse in Limousines."

"Does he have any hobbies?" John piped up from behind the paper.

"Apart from Junk food and sex in limousines? I think he likes chess. And very boring books on British Politics. And manipulating people." This was proving far more difficult than Sherlock had anticipated.

"How about someone from the Diogenes club? "

"No. I don't think so somehow."

"Well just put an advert in the Times and see what happens you know: Tall, good looking redhead, clever, likes politics, chess, eating out looking for similar. That sort of thing."

"Do you think Mycroft is good looking John?" Sherlock sounded jealous.

"Not as good looking as you obviously. But he is quite nice."

"hmmm." Sherlock didn't sound completely convinced.

Mycroft was blissfully unaware of his brother's attempts at matchmaking. In fact after drinking the entire bottle of vodka he was blissfully unaware of a good many things. He hiccupped to himself and pulled out his phone. This time he was determined not to send anyone on a suicide mission. But that didn't mean that he was all okay with Tony dumping him. He liked Tony. Tony was sexy. And funny. And well hung. And did unspeakable amazing things to him in the back of the car. Where was he ever going to find someone like that?

SMS: Tony I miss you. MH

SMS: Tony I really miss you. MH

SMS: Tony. I am so horny I am going to explode. MH

SMS: I'm waiting for you. MH

Tony was just zipping up his trousers when his phone beeped several times. Mycroft was drunk-texting again. Brilliant. He would ignore it. It was all fine. He walked down the street a black car pulled up alongside him.

"Commander LeStrade?" he recognised Mycroft's assistant.

"What? He's sent you to get me now. I'm not interested."

"No. Actually someone slightly higher up has sent me."

"There isn't any one higher up. Unless you mean? Oh."

"Exactly. Now currently Mr Holmes is rather drunk and sending text messages. It is only a matter of time before he sends a text message to the wrong person. You've performed valentine assignments before? Just think of this as another one."

"No way you could get someone else?"

"Her Majesty was most insistent. She rather likes Mycroft. "Tony climbed in to the car. After all, it was an order.


	48. Chapter 48

Jason Silver was not as muscular or as well endowed as John Watson. Nor did he have the melted Chocolate tones of Tony LeStrade's Voice. He didn't even have the spectacular bone structure of Sherlock Holmes. He did however have a winning combination of good looks, a slender frame and an honest open disposition. And two very nice hamsters. The red one seemed very attached to Greg. In fact she had been lavishing attention on him for a while, and when he had reached across to stroke the large gold hamster, just so he didn't feel left out, Greg almost thought that Burke might have scowled at him.

Jason had just brought some drinks into the bedroom. He made a mean Margarita as well. Hare gave Greg a pointed look and he held the glass at hamster level for her to try. She pulled a face. Burke sniffed in an injured tone, and was instantly made a fuss of by Jason. This seemed to cheer him up immensely. He rolled over onto his back to have his belly tickled. Hare looked completely disgusted at such behaviour.

Tony knocked on Mycroft's front door. He still had a key, but if he was playing the rent boy this evening, he might as well do the thing properly. Mycroft opened the door and promptly burst into tears.

"Tony? You came back!" A tried and emotional as a newt Mycroft put his arms around Tony's neck, sobbing into the blue fabric of his uniform. Tony place a comforting hand on Mycroft's back and patted him. He wasn't so bad when he was like this.

"Mycroft. I'm here under orders."

"Orders? From whom? I'm the only one who can...oh."

"Exactly. Oh. "But Tony continued to stroke Mycroft's back. It was that aftershave that did it. Sent strange signals to Tony's groin. Mycroft sensed the tensing of Tony's shoulder muscles and other parts.

"Well. Will you come in and have a drink at least." Mycroft was a little wobbly, but still coherent.

"Yes. Of course."

They had just sat down in two armchairs and Mycroft had poured two generous glasses of his very best brandy, made three years before the battle of waterloo.

"I'm very sorry. For everything. I understand why you don't want to marry me." Mycroft looked tearfully at his brandy glass.

"Mycroft. It's all fine. You can't change who you are." Tony really felt sorry for him. And Mycroft really smelt nice. "Why don't we just start again?"

"Really? You'd do that, after everything?"

Tony rubbed a hand across his chest, where the scars were still itchy.

"Believe me. I've had much worse." And then he held out his hand to pull Mycroft in the general direction of the bedroom.


	49. Chapter 49

Hardwicke seemed in a bit of a strange mood. He didn't want to be hugged by John or stroked by Sherlock and had even squeaked in a very bad tempered manner at Huggins. Usually any attention from Huggins and Hardwicke was rolling over ready for action. It was John who figured out what was wrong. For all of Sherlock's deductive reasoning, John understood. Hardwicke was missing his daddy.

Tony was face down in Mycroft's bed when he got the phone call.

"Sorry mate, but the little fella is really upset. I think he misses you." John explained on the phone.

"Give me half an hour and I'll be round." Tony grunted from his half asleep position amongst the silk sheets. He couldn't have his little furry friend upset! Mycroft was at some government meeting about Air Craft Carriers and would be gone for some time.

At Jason Silver's flat a rather frustrated Burke was trying to express his feelings to everyone through the medium of scowling, squeaking and rattling of cage bars. He seemed most upset that Hare had fallen asleep on Greg LeStrade's knee during breakfast, whilst he had been left in the cage. Eventually Jason noticed his displeasure and extracted a very cross looking Burke and tried to pacify him with Banana. He chewed thoughtfully on his banana and wondered if he would get away with biting LeStrade. Then he noticed Hare glaring at him and decided against it. He really needed to speak to that little blond hamster. He seemed to have good ideas.

When Tony arrived Hardwicke was laying listlessly in the fruit bowl, paying no attention to anyone or anything. Tony scooped him up a stroked him carefully, making a mental note to remember to have a shower before he touched Mycroft. He did not want a repeat of the incident involving Mycroft's underwear.

"It's all right mate." Tony told a slightly less distressed looking Hardwicke. "I'm not going to Gibraltar now. We'll sort everything out and you can come home soon."

Whilst Huggins was relieved that at least Hardwicke was paying more attention now his daddy had arrived this latest news that he might be moving out was not good. Even with the logistics involved in Hardwicke sharing a house with Mycroft, Huggins was sure Tony would be able to sort it all out. Then Huggins would be all alone again. And he was not having that. Whilst Hardwicke was being fussed over, Huggins sneaked across the table himself with John's laptop. Times were desperate. Huggins had decided to send an email.


	50. Chapter 50

Huggins was pacing carefully up and down Sherlock's torso. Sherlock was deep in thought. Every so often Huggins would pause in his pacing in order to be tickled behind his ear, which, it seemed helped with Sherlock's thought processes. Then the tickling would cease and Huggins would resume his pacing. Huggins was awaiting a reply to his email. It had been rather complicated to send and he was rather dismayed that John's spellchecker used American English.

Hardwicke had been in a strange mood and was sulking in his cage. Perhaps he didn't love Huggins any more? Huggins sniffed and made his way towards the pocket of Sherlock's shirt. He burrowed in and curled up to sleep. A long finger stroked him gently along his back.

"It's all right Huggins. It will all work out." There was another stoke and Huggins gave a sleepy squeak of agreement, before Sherlock leapt to his feet. "Brilliant Huggins! Of course. It's the twin brother." And without pausing to remove the Hamster from his pocket, Sherlock pulled on his coat and made for Scotland Yard.

Xxx

Mycroft nearly passed out watching Tony being fitted for his frock coat. He really was going to have to do something about his blood pressure. Maybe give up the red meat and the dairy. Maybe. The Seamstress who was fussing with his trousers seemed to having trouble with her blood pressure as well. Mycroft told himself to stay calm. Tony couldn't help it. It wasn't as though he was actually doing anything. He was just standing there having his inside leg measured.

"I'll taper them in a little more, just to emphasise those slim hips of yours Mr LeStrade." And suddenly Mycroft found his whole world focussed on Tony's slim hips. He needed a distraction.

"So Tony, have you picked a best man?"

"I thought my brother? I was his best man when he got married." The thought of two LeStrades in frock coats was almost too much.

"Yes of course. And I have your active service discharge papers. Once you sign them you officially work for me. You will be attached to my department."

"I can hardly wait. Is that not an abuse of power though? "

"There's scarcely any point in having power if you can't abuse it every now and again." And suddenly Tony's lips were crushed against his.

"God I am so turned on right now!" Mycroft felt Tony grind against him. The trouser fitting would just have to wait.

Xxxx

Hare looked with keen interest at the screen of Jason's laptop. The cute little blond hamster had sent her a message. He needed her help. How sweet. Something about a power play against the British Government. Males were so easy to handle. She looked over to where Burke was laying on his back, hugging a carrot and snoring. Especially the clever ones...


	51. Chapter 51

Mycroft was glancing over yet another insanely boring report on the Middle East when one of his many assistants knocked on the door of his office.

"Excuse me Sir?"

"Yes Jonathan. What is it?" Mycroft always thought Jonathan Denborough looked a little too young to actually be working for him. The first time they met, Mycroft had assumed the lad had been on work experience, only to find out some months later he was his new private secretary.

"We've intercepted some rather sensitive E-mails."

"We're always intercepting sensitive E-mails. I have a whole department who do nothing else."

"No Sir. These are different. They seem to be using some kind of code. Our cryptography department haven't had much luck with it yet. But there are some words in English. Notably British Government and Destroy."

"As I said before." Mycroft put down the file he was reading and noticed that Jonathan was blushing furiously. "We get these all the time. Which bloody lunatic is it now?"

"We've traced the Laptop they were sent from and to. One belongs to an officer working in Scotland Yard CID, the other is registered to an Ex British Army officer. A Detective Sergeant Jason Silver. And former RAMC Captain, Doctor John Watson." Mycroft snatched the papers out of his secretary's hands, flicking through them.

_**To: silversurfer **_

_**From: johnnyblogger **_

_**TW**_

_**Urgent. British Government+ T. Stop ceremony?**_

_**SendT 2 Gibraltar. **_

_**Destroy. H+H=:0(**_

_**Hug**_

_**Cdzafrgtvfy6hnujkimjlok;lp'/;#]'[**_

_**74589*+-**_

_**Dr. John Watson FRCS**_

_**Duty Surgeon, St Bart's Teaching Hospital.**_

Mycroft read it twice. Then a third time. There were several implications of this. Including the impending Prime Ministers Visit to Gibraltar. And he wasn't sure whether he was more shocked that John Watson was an Anarchist, that he knew a code the secret service didn't, or the fact he was sending hugs to Jason whilst plotting the overthrow of the government. Sherlock really did have the most deplorable taste in men.

"Arrest them both."

"On what charge sir?"

"Treason." Mycroft dismissed Jonathan with a wave of his hand and went back to his report. He wondered how Sherlock would react to all this.


	52. Chapter 52

John was just finishing a report when two men in black suits burst in to the Mortuary.

"Look can you tell Mycroft if he wants me he can just call me?"

"Doctor John Hamish Watson?"

"Yes?"

"You're under arrest."

"What for?"

"Treason." And a rather bewildered John was handcuffed and dragged struggling into the back of an unmarked van.

Xxxxx

Sherlock was at Scotland Yard, arguing with Anderson and completely unaware that his flatmate/ partner/ boyfriend was currently being arrested for plotting to overthrow the government. Huggins, from his vantage point of Sherlock's shirt pocket had decided he disliked Anderson even more than Mycroft. And Huggins was desperately trying to communicate to Sherlock his desire to be let down on the desk, where he had just spotted Anderson's mug of tea.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock addressed the hamster, holding up his hand to stop Anderson talking. Huggins squeaked and looked at the desk. "Oh you want to get out. All right. Just don't eat any reports." Sherlock placed the hamster carefully on top of a pile of autopsy reports thinking perhaps Huggins would find them interesting. Then he resumed his argument with Anderson.

"My God did someone turn your boyfriend into a rat?" Huggins heard that. He was not amused.

"Shut up Anderson. I brought him along because I knew you would be here and I needed someone intelligent to talk to." Whilst Anderson was glaring at Sherlock, Huggins made his way with purpose across the piles of paperwork until he was positioned over the top of Anderson's tea. Then with a look of extreme malice upon his small furry features, he peed in it. Then turned his attention to some folders marked Top Secret.

Xxx

"I don't know what you are talking about?"

"Don't treat me like an idiot Doctor Watson. We have the emails."

"What emails?"

"The ones you sent to Jason Silver. Now what does the secret code mean?" Mycroft looked fairly menacing with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up.

"What Secret code. I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Doctor Watson. If you really want to play name rank and serial number please bear in mind that i have ways of making you talk."

"I think you saw too many war films as a child."

"You can have it your way Doctor." Mycroft pulled a cloth off of a small tray and indicated the array of syringes and bottles. "One last time. What does the Secret code mean and who do you work for."

"Mycroft. Look really i haven't sent any emails at all. I haven't even been near my blog for two weeks. I've been too busy. I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe Sherlock has been using my laptop or it could be the..."

"Yes?"

"The Hamsters."

"What?"

"Sherlock taught his Hamster to email. " And John looked up into the expression on Mycroft's face.

"Doctor Watson. I have heard some excuses in my time. But never one as idiotic as that. The security of the realm is at stake. Now what is the truth?" And John felt the needle being inserted into his arm.

"Mycroft really. Go get the Hamster from the flat. No. Please no. Sherlock!" John screamed as he blacked out.

Xxxx

Anderson had just spat his tea across the room. Huggins looked very satisfied. There were the sounds of a scuffle from down the hallway, shouts. And then a very pale looking Greg LeStrade entered the room.

"Jason's just been arrested. On a charge of treason." Anderson spluttered in what was an almost sympathetic manner, still trying to get the taste of Hamster out of his mouth. Sherlock frowned. Huggins walked over to where Greg's hand was resting on the desk and nuzzled his finger. "Sherlock? They arrested John as well."

Before Greg had finished the sentence Sherlock had ran from the room, pausing only to collect Huggins, with a cry of:

"I will really kill that fat shit this time!"


	53. Chapter 53

It seemed the Holmes brothers had temporarily forgotten they were the two most intelligent men in the world and had reverted to being two twelve year old boys. Mycroft was currently sporting a split lip and the makings of a black eye. Sherlock had already spat two of his teeth out on to Mycroft's Persian rug. It was an evenly matched fight really, Sherlock was quicker and more used to physical activity, but Mycroft had the advantage of reach, weight and experience. Huggins was enjoying himself immensely, having bailed from Sherlock's pocket onto Mycroft's desk where he was currently, unnoticed pulling up reports about British Naval security on Mycroft's laptop, and occasionally diving in to a bowl of Peanut M&Ms .

John meanwhile was sat with a splitting headache, being interrogated by one of Mycroft's minions. Under whatever drug Mycroft had injected him with John had stuck to his original story, and had repeated over and over again. "Get the Hamster from the Flat." Which was why a rather confused looking Hardwicke was now sat in front of a laptop on the table in front of John. He looked nervously up at John, his tweedy fur sticking up a little where he had been rather roughly handled by Mycroft's people. Which John felt was rather uncalled for. John reached out a finger and stroked Hardwicke's back, smoothing the spikes of hair flat. John wasn't sure if hamsters could cry, but Hardwicke looked as though he was about to burst into tears.

"Well Doctor Watson? Is your hamster going to send a nemail or not?" The mocking tone in the man's voice clearly suggested he didn't believe John for a moment.

"This is the wrong Hamster. This one doesn't know how to email."

"So what does he do then Doctor? Spreadsheets? Programming in Basic?" Hardwicke had heard quite enough of this and marched across the table and sank his very strong hamster teeth into the man's finger.

"Bodyguard." John said sarcastically whilst the man shrieked and danced around the room with Hardwicke hanging off his finger. Suddenly John was a lot less frightened. He had a small furry ally in all this.

Xxx

Burke and Hare were a little concerned that Daddy had not returned home. Hare paced impatiently , occasionally checking the clock. Before finally telling Burke to open the door of the cage and then jump on the power button of Jason's laptop. She was in the middle of logging on to the internet, when the front door opened. Burke immediately did his best to cover up Hare and the laptop with his large furry body, which whilst large by hamster standards, was still not quite up to the task. Hare had to admit it was a sweet, if typically dim-witted gesture. But it wasn't Jason Silver that walked through the door. It was Greg LeStrade, who immediately saw the escapee hamsters.

"Hey what are you two doing out of your cage?" He looked at the guilty hamster faces in front of him, and the half typed password on the Internet access screen. Hare looked up at him and squeaked. Greg took a very deep breath, wondering if he was going mad. Burke took a few paces forward and tried to look menacing.

"Come on then. Show me." He nodded towards the laptop. And Hare, relieved to have finally found a sensible human began to type.

Xxxx

The Holmes brothers fight was at a stalemate. Sherlock was lying on the floor, feebly struggling. Mycroft was sat on top of him.

"Stop struggling you little shit."

"Get off of me you fat wanker. My ribs are going to break."

"Piss off." Mycroft bounced on top of his brother.

Huggins had finally worked his way around Mycroft's password system, logged in to his email and was sending a mail to Hare.

**To: SilverSurfer**

**From: RedLeader**

**TW**

**S& M. In British Government.**

**Help.**

**HUG**.

_**Cdzafrgtvfy6hnujkimjlok;lp'/;#]'[**_

_**74589*+-**_

Huggins jumped off of the keyboard and pushed the mouse to send. He really hoped Hare could help.


	54. Chapter 54

Greg LeStrade's head was going to explode. He knew it. He had gone completely mad and his brain was going to start running out of his ear at any moment. Because if he wasn't going mad, he was having a conversation with a hamster. A hamster that had just demonstrated her prowess at emailing by sending a message saying "Hello" to Greg's Blackberry, and was now showing him how to get discount coupons for biscuits off the Tesco's website. And the red-headed hamster seemed to be flirting with him. Greg sat down heavily on a chair and rubbed his face. The other hamster, the big golden coloured one, seemed to sympathise, and in lieu of a cup of tea had offered Greg a sunflower seed and then had sat on his hand. He took this to be a gesture of solidarity.

"Okay. Here's the deal." And I really don't believe I'm doing this. "John Watson and Jason are in a lot of trouble because of your emails. Sherlock's brother, Mycroft." Hare squeaked and Burke crapped at the mention of his name." Thinks that John and Jason are terrorists. Do you understand?"

Hare squeaked and looked at Greg with a _please continue_ expression.

"So we need to prove to Mycroft that you and Huggins sent the emails. Any ideas?" hare looked thoughtful for a moment and then typed: **Gregx2.**

"Sorry? Me?"

**X2 **Hare typed again.

"I don't get it. Times two of what?"

**UX2. **Greg really wished Sherlock was there. He was sure he'd be able to decipher the hamster Enigma. And then it hit him.

"Me times two? You mean my brother?" As if to confirm the point both Burke and Hare rolled over on to their backs. It seemed Tony's reputation even preceded him in the hamster community. Greg dialled his brother's number. This called for someone with a devious streak.

Xxxx

Sherlock had squirmed out from under Mycroft and had made a frantic dash for the desk. He just made it before Mycroft rugby tackled him and brought him crashing to the ground.

"I should have had you bloody well locked up years ago. You're nothing but an annoying little show-off. I'm fed up of cleaning up after you." Mycroft was just about to pin his brother to the floor once more when Sherlock held out his right hand. Mycroft look in horror as he saw what was pointing at him.

"If you don't let me go I swear I will do it."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me fat boy."

"I'm your brother!"

"And?" This time Sherlock had lost it. And Mycroft, whilst by no means a coward, didn't want it to end like this. On the floor of his office. By his own brother's hand.

"Sherlock. Put it down. We can talk this through." Sherlock adjusted his grip and Mycroft went a little paler as he realised he was staring down the barrel of a loaded Hamster. Huggins smiled sarcastically at Mycroft, today was just getting better and better.


	55. Chapter 55

Both Greg and Burke looked slightly affronted that Hare had defected to Tony LeStrade and was currently nuzzling him in the general direction of his groin. Tony in turn was thoughtfully stroking the red head and staring at the computer screen. He had just watched her send an email to his I-phone that read "Hi Big Boy, xxxx."

"And Mycroft thinks that John and Jason are terrorists because the hamsters have been emailing each other?"

"Yes."

"And there was me thinking this was going to be difficult. What does Sherlock think? In fact where is Sherlock?"

"I can't get hold of him. He's not answering his phone. Which is not unusual. He's not at Baker Street, I sent a squad car round. Not at St. Bart's, Molly hasn't seen him all day. No idea." At this Hare squeaked and gestured at the Inbox.

"What?" She ran up Tony's jumper and squeaked more forcefully. "Check the Inbox?"

"You speak Hamster?"

"No. Its more an intuitive understanding of the opposite sex."

"But you're gay?"

"Not all the time." Hare squeaked impatiently and Tony looked at the list of emails. "There's an email from Mycroft here." He opened the mail up.

"What's it say?"

"Somehow I don't think Mycroft wrote this. And there's an attachment." It seemed Huggins had thoughtfully enclosed a picture of what was going on just to clarify things. A picture which showed a furious looking Sherlock about to beat the crap out of someone. "That's Mycroft on the floor."

"Are you sure?" All Greg could see was a pair of Oxfords and pinstripes.

"I would recognise that exquisitely tailored arse anywhere."

Xxxx

Currently the aforementioned exquisitely tailored arse and its owner were sat in an uncomfortable chair whilst Sherlock held the both of them at hamster-point.

"Sherlock. Put the Hamster down."

"No."

"Sherlock. This is ridiculous." Mycroft squirmed as Sherlock bought Huggins closer to his brother's face.

"Really? You arrested my Boyfriend for treason."

"How was I to know you'd taught that bloody rat to use a computer?" Huggins looked offended, paused for a moment and then peed all over Mycroft's trousers. Mycroft looked as though he was about to pass out.

"Now look what you've done. You've made Huggins angry."

Mycroft shook his head. He could feel a Migraine coming on. He had to get out of there. And then as he looked around the room in desperation he saw a vacuum cleaner standing in the corner.


	56. Chapter 56

The brother's LeStrade were greeted by the sight of the two cleverest men in England and a Hamster in a three way standoff with a vacuum cleaner. Huggins was visibly shaking. Sherlock was screaming obscenities at his brother, and Mycroft was brandishing the Dyson like the latest weapon from Q-Branch.

"Oh Dear." Tony said regarding the proceedings with a raised eyebrow. In his pocket Hare squeaked her encouragement at Huggins, who emboldened by reinforcements arriving made a spirited charge towards Mycroft. Dodging the vacuum cleaner he made it to Mycroft's shoes and began his attempt at trouser infiltration. Very calmly Tony moved forwards and scooped up the tiny blonde Hamster and placed him in his other pocket. Huggins was not pleased about this, but as it was Tony he restrained himself. Tony tickled him behind his ear.

"Would someone like to tell us what's going on?" This caused another string of obscenities from Sherlock, mainly on the subject of the size of Mycroft's backside, and a weary sigh from Mycroft.

"We know about the emails!"

"It wasn't John or Jason. It was the..."

"...Hamsters. They've been talking to each other..."

"...using John and Jason's accounts." It was very rare for Greg and Tony to finish each other's sentences.

"And you expect me to believe this? What about the secret coding?"

"Secret coding? Oh that." Tony reached into his pocket and took Huggins out, making reassuring noises. "Huggins? Please could you send me an email?" He deposited the Hamster down on Mycroft's desk. Huggins set to work with the keyboard.

_**TO: 10InchNail**_

_**FROM: RedLeader**_

_**Hello. **_

_**Xxx Hug**_

And then everyone watched as Huggins made his way across the keyboard to the mouse to click send, leaving a trail of random keystrokes in his wake, as his little legs poddled across.

"There's your secret code Mycroft. Not exactly Enigma is it?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, looking annoyed. Evidently he felt he should have realised this.

"So if everyone is satisfied that John and Jason aren't international terrorists could we maybe let them go?"

Mycroft pressed a button on his intercom and spoke in a low hurried voice. A few moments later a slightly rumpled looking John Watson, Jason Silver and Hardwicke were shown into the office. Hardwicke squeaked at Tony holding up his arms for his Daddy to pick him up. Mycroft looked slightly nauseous. Then there was a series of annoyed squeaks from Huggins and Hare, and even one from Burke who had slept through everything in Greg's inside pocket.

"What?" Tony's face was clouding with anger. More squeaks followed, Hare was obviously translating for him. "You interrogated my Hamster?"

Mycroft began to speak, and was silenced as Tony smacked him square in the jaw.

"Wedding's off. Come on Greg. We're leaving." And not stopping to see if anyone would follow him, Tony stormed out. Sherlock looked smug. Mycroft burst in to tears, and reached instinctively for a handful of M&M's to calm his nerves.


	57. Chapter 57

It was with a heavy sigh of relief that Mycroft shut the door of his now empty office and prayed the madness would end. No more Hamsters. No more terrible little brothers. No more delectable tarts calling off weddings. He just wanted to get back to a more simple existence of running the world and having everyone scared shitless of him. Much easier. Mycroft grabbed another handful of M& Ms and shovelled them into his mouth. The diet could wait another week. And it was whilst he was chewing that he began to feel a little odd. As though he couldn't breath. As though his throat was slowly closing up. He looked down in horror at the small blond hairs scattered liberally through his bowl of sweets . he made a half hearted stab at the panic button before collapsing on the floor. The last thought in his head "Death by Hamster."

John was feeling slightly queasy in the cab. The effects of whatever Mycroft had injected him with were still wearing off. Sherlock was silently seething out of the window, and Greg and Tony were having one of those conversations with their eyes again. Jason looked as though he was in shock. And John had been saddled with all four hamsters, who were sitting on his lap. Somehow they seemed to be under the impression that John was some kind of giant hamster God. John ran a finger down Hardwicke's back. The poor little fella was still visibly shaken from his ordeal. And maybe a little concussed. Mycroft's agent had finally removed the offending Hardwicke from his finger by flinging him across the room. Hardwicke had bounced painfully off the two way mirror before getting up groggily and staggering over to John and hiding up his trouser leg. Mycroft really did have a lot to answer for.

Mycroft woke up on the floor of his office. Something strange was going on. Really he should be dead. Anaphylactic shock. Brought on by eating Hamster contaminated chocolate. He was vaguely aware that his waistcoat and shirt were undone and that someone was stroking his hair and making soothing noises. Someone who realised he was awake and promptly dropped his head on the floor.

"Oh God. Sorry. I er..."

"Jonathan?"

"Yes Sir."

"What happened?"

"You pushed the panic button Sir. I found you on the floor. I used the EPI pen. Sorry. Please don't have me sent to Panama Sir." The poor boy, who Mycroft recalled had something of a nervous disposition to begin with, looked absolutely terrified.

"You saved my life Jonathan." Mycroft smiled. Jonathan turned a strange pink and looked at his shoes.

Mycroft sat up and Jonathan helped him to his feet, and then to a chair. Mycroft had never realised before quite how similar Jonathan was to John Watson, in fact he was rather lovely. And Mycroft couldn't help but wonder what he'd look like in just a towel.

"Jonathan. Would you arrange to have a car brought round to take me to my Doctors? And then if you would be good enough to join me."

"Yes Sir." Jonathan blushed crimson this time and hurried away to make the arrangements.

_Who needs Tony? _Mycroft thought to himself and slowly began to re-button his shirt.


	58. Chapter 58

Tony was livid. You could beat him, torture him or send him to out of the way places to be cut up by Criminal Masterminds. That was all fine. But you did not mess with his Hamster. Hardwicke was the one unbreakable rule Tony had. The Hamster was to be treated with kindness and respect at all times. Under no circumstances was he to be interrogated. Mycroft Holmes was going to pay. Perhaps some of the interesting pictures Tony had on his phone would find their way in to the hands of a tabloid journalist? He scrolled through his phone to the camera option. The files were blank. Bastard. Clever sexy bastard. But still a bastard.

The Hamster in question was currently sat on John Watson's knee refusing to be moved. John was somewhat encumbered with hamsters. They seemed to have decided he was the safest place to be. Hardwicke was being comforted by Huggins, who seemed to have decided the best way to help was to curl up very closely to him and scowl, hiss and bare his teeth at anyone who came near. Burke was sat on John's other knee. He was bloody heavy for a hamster. John made a mental note to ask Jason what he fed him. The large blond hamster seemed to be acting as some kind of security. If your name wasn't on the list you were not coming near. He had fixed Sherlock with such a mean look that the detective had moved seats. Hare meanwhile, had borrowed John's iphone. She had looked a little affronted when John hesitated before handing it over. She was now looking up the effects of Anaphylactic shock and the probability of resulting brain damage on Google. John didn't like to ask.

Mycroft had been given the all clear by his Doctor. Apparently Jonathan's quick thinking and fast actions had saved Mycroft from a hamstery death. Mycroft smiled indulgently at his assistant, causing the young man to turn a delightfully rosy pink colour.

"Do you have any pets Jonathan?"

"Sir?"

"Pets? And please call me Mycroft."

"Well..." Jonathan's blush deepened. "I've got a Chameleon. He's called Cushing. Is it important?"

"Not at all." Good. Small, Cute, looks good in a suit, no rodents. Jonathan was certainly ticking all the boxes. And Mycroft was certainly looking forward to ticking Jonathan's box. "Would you like to go for dinner at my club? As a small token of my gratitude."

Thank you Si.. er Mycroft." Jonathan smiled. Mycroft almost thought he winked.

At Scotland Yard, Tony and Greg were plotting their next move, Jason had been sent home for the rest of the week. Greg would join him later. The Detective Inspector was still trying to calm down his seething brother, but it seemed no amount of soothing words and gentle hugs were going to cut it.

Molly was only dropping off some files. On her way home. She needed to get home. The cat needed feeding. She was pleased to see Inspector LeStrade. Very glad they had let him go. But slightly confused as to who the other man was. Except that he was gorgeous and dripping sexuality onto the floor. Someone could slip up on it. Molly squeaked.

"Oh Hi Molly. This is my brother Tony." Greg Introduced them. "Molly's one of our pathologists."

"Brains as well as looks?" That voice. My God. That Voice. Molly dropped the files on the floor, and squeaked again. "Like to go for a drink Molly?" She nodded.

"Molly's Sherlock's number one fan. I'll warn you now." Greg smiled, he knew he shouldn't be, but he couldn't help feeling just a little bit proud of his brother's technique.

"Sherlock who?" Molly managed to gasp as Tony took her hand.

Greg decided it was time to go and see his detective sergeant.


	59. Chapter 59

Mycroft did not make a habit of visiting his staff at home. He assumed all his staff had homes. No one had ever complained they didn't. But he had decided to make an exception in the case of Jonathan. You could tell a great deal about someone by the state of their refrigerator.

Jonathan lived in a modest apartment. Modern. Painted white. Lots of glass and brushed steel everywhere. Sparsely furnished. His fridge contained an assortment of sugar free soft drinks and four Marks & Spencer's ready meals. He obviously spent very little time at home.

In the corner of his living room, where most people had a Television set, a Large glass tank was given pride of place. Jonathan fished inside it, pulling out a rather fat, languid looking creature that immediately turned the same dove grey as Jonathan's suit.

"This is Cushing." Jonathan was slightly less nervous now, but still blushed adorably when he spoke to Mycroft. The reptile swivelled its head and looked at Mycroft with a rather bored expression on its face. Mycroft stared back. Cushing's expression changed from bored to mildly interested.

"Would you like to hold him?" The blush was even deeper now. Probably went all the way down to Jonathan's rather delectable arse, Mycroft thought.

"Yes. Why not." He held out his hands and the leathery creature shimmied in to them. Cushing took three paces up Mycroft's arm and change colour again. Mycroft looked at Jonathan. The colour that had been suffusing Jonathan's face drained away leaving him deathly pale. Mycroft looked back at the Chameleon.

"I'm sorry. He's never done that before."

"Interesting." Mycroft stroked Cushing thoughtfully on the back of his neck. Cushing looked rather smug.

"I think he must like you." The chameleon must seriously like Mycroft. It wasn't everyday you saw a Navy Blue Pinstriped Chameleon that looked as if it was wearing a ginger toupee.

"What does he eat?" Mycroft smiled at his new friend.

"Large insects. Fruit. He quite likes Jaffa Cakes as well. And lasagne."

"Doesn't by any chance like small rodents?" Cushing was regarding Mycroft with what could only be described as Lizard Love. As though he was recognising a kindred spirit.

"Well I've never tried him on them. But I suppose he might? Why?"

"No reason. No reason at all." Mycroft lowered himself down on to the sofa and began stroking the Chameleon's back.

**(A/N Yes I know Chameleons don't really change colour like that.)**


	60. Chapter 60

Cushing was quite enjoying himself. Not that Jonathan wasn't quite entertaining in a human sort of way, but the guy didn't even have a TV set. As a consequence, Cushing was forced to watch "Most Deadly" on Jonathan's laptop. But now this new human had turned up. And he was very entertaining. In fact he seemed to be delighted with Cushing in general. And had clapped his hands approvingly as the Chameleon had blended in with the Sofa, the Carpet, a Copy of Hello Magazine and Jonathan's University scarf.

"What a rather talented pet you have, Jonathan." Mycroft's colossal brain was plotting the direst revenge upon his brother and his many rodents.

"Thank You."

"You really should bring him to work with you. He must be terribly bored here on his own." Cushing nodded at Mycroft and curled up on his lap.

"Well there's not really anywhere for him."

"Nonsense. He can stay in my office. I'm sure he'll make a wonderful talking point. Would you like that Cushing?" The Lizard swivelled both its eyes at Mycroft. Chameleons didn't have eyelashes. If they did, Cushing would have been fluttering them at Mycroft.

Jonathan looked at his boss and his Chameleon. He could have sworn they were flirting with one another. Jonathan suddenly felt surplus to requirements.

At Baker Street, things were tense. Sherlock paced up and down. Unable to settle. Huggins paced up and down. Unable to settle. Hardwicke was sleeping. John had finally decided that desperate times called for extreme measures and had slipped the small tweedy Hamster a few drops of Scotch. Hardwicke had relaxed a little. Then tottered about for a while, and finally passed out in the fruit bowl, where he was currently hugging a kiwi fruit. John had slipped himself more than a few drops of Scotch and was asleep on the sofa, covered over in Sherlock's orange ambulance blanket. Burke was patrolling the blanket, he seemed to have designated himself as John's own personal body guard. Hare had managed to hack into the security cameras in Mycroft's office. It wasn't difficult. All of Mycroft's passwords were food related. She had typed in the last security code (Jam Roly Poly) and now had a clear view of the elegantly panelled room. It was empty. Occasionally a security guard on a patrol would peer in through the door. But Mycroft wasn't there.

"He's up to something." Sherlock addressed the Red-headed hamster. She looked up at him and Squeaked.

"We need to be on our guard." Huggins ceased his pacing of the kitchen worktop and squeaked his opinion.

"Absolutely Huggins. I'll get John's gun." Huggins looked a lot happier at the possibility of Mycroft getting shot.


	61. Chapter 61

Anthea shrieked as she entered Mycroft's office. And for a moment she thought something terrible had happened. The Baskerville research facility just kept coming up with all sorts. Anything was possible. Even turning her boss into a Herringbone Weave Lizard. Cushing looked up briefly from the report he was reading on troop movement in the Middle East and regarded this intruder thoughtfully. Minimal Threat he decided and flicked out his tongue to snatch a Jaffa Cake off of a nearby plate. Anthea stared. Cushing stared back. Then Cushing got bored and returned to his report with a dismissive flick of his tail.

"Anthea, there you are." Mycroft appeared from one of the many doors concealed within the wooden panels of the room. No one knew where they all lead to. Well no one except Mycroft of course.

"Yes Sir. Erm Sir? What's that?" she pointed, rather unnecessarily, at Cushing.

"It's the troop movement report for yesterday."

"Erm, no Sir, I meant the thing reading the report." Could Lizard's read?

"That is not a thing! That is Cushing. He is a Chameleon."

"Yes Sir." Anthea began to think the past few weeks had started to take their toll on Mycroft's mind. The Chameleon gazed up at Mycroft with an adoring expression on its face and changed colour to match Mycroft's tie. It even got the little Umbrella pattern. Mycroft patted the reptile and indulgently gave it another Jaffa Cake. Anthea realised it was going to be a very long week.

Molly Hooper's Monday was not going much better than Anthea's. She had spent a weekend in the very large and bouncy bed of Tony LeStrade, whose prowess in the bedroom could only be described as Olympic, and was now on an Endorphin come down comparable to the worst hangover she had ever had. And something about the body in front of her was wrong. She noticed the small scratches over the body. Rodents most likely. Except that there was none of the tell tale chewing and nibbling of the corpse that rats were likely to cause. She looked over in the corner of her lab, where her own pet white rat looked glumly out at her. She felt sorry for rats; they got such a bad press. Molly continued her examination of the corpse and noticed something stuck up its nose. Using forceps she carefully extracted the something and dropped it into a dish.

It was a half eaten Jaffa Cake. In the corner the rat squeaked hopefully.

"Sorry Rathbone, it's evidence. I'll get you a Kit-Kat later." Molly pulled out her phone and Rathbone went back to sulking. He reminded her of Sherlock.

**SMS: Hi Inspector. Could you come down to the Morgue please? Xxx Molly. PS Get Sherlock.**


	62. Chapter 62

Huggins gave Hardwicke a vicious kick. And when that didn't work he threw grapes at him. Hardwicke looked blearily over the edge of the fruit bowl, hair sticking up and whiskers bristling. Huggins squeaked, nodding in the general direction of the coffee table and John Watson's unattended laptop. Hardwicke rolled his eyes, but hauled himself off of the rather comfortable bunch of bananas he had been sleeping on.

John's password was easy enough. "Chloroform". And very quickly Huggins was running through his emails. His own emails that was, not John's. That would be an invasion of the good Doctors privacy. One in particular caught his hamstery eye.

**FROM: LabRat101**

**TO: HugginsHolmes**

**Subject: Death by Jaffa Cake.**

For a rat, Rathbone was quite intelligent. His spelling was a bit off, but that was probably because he was Russian to begin with and was typing in, what was at best, his third language. All in all though, he was reliable, observant, and got the job done. A bit like LeStrade. Except with a tail.

The salient points of the email indicated that Rathbone had noticed two separate corpses in Molly's mortuary, both of whom had Jaffa cakes inserted into their nostrils, just before death. He was most aggrieved that the Jaffa Cakes were being treated as evidence, but apparently Tony LeStrade had bought him a Fondant Fancy and he was in better humour now. Rathbone made it clear, in spite of his dubious grammar, that he suspected something might be "up". Although Huggins did have a feeling the Rat's concerns were more centred on the potential depletion of the nation's Jaffa Cake stockpile than any concern for the human victims.

It was a most intriguing case. Huggins squeaked excitedly. Hardwicke squinted at the screen like a rodent condemned. He cheered up considerably when he realised there might be cake involved.

Xx

Mycroft Holmes leaned back against the pillows, naked and for the time being, fully sated. Just visible on the black silk sheets was the leathery outline of lizard. Cushing turned from black silk, to pale, flushed pink with a smattering of freckles and gingery hair as he lay on Mycroft's stomach. He looked rather smug. Mycroft reached across to the bedside table and rooted amongst the empty condom wrappers and tubes of KY Jelly for a packet of biscuits.

Cushing took a Hobnob from the packet and began to lick the chocolate off of it. All the while the reptile gazed lovingly up at Mycroft.

There as a shy knock at the door.

"Come in." Mycroft said though a mouthful of biscuit. The door was pushed open and a rather nervous looking man in his late twenties entered the room. Mycroft checked his pocket watch. "You're my three O'clock?" The man nodded. He was bit early, but rather handsome, with gentle brown eyes and an exciting haircut. Mycroft's cock twitched to life and somewhat grumpily Cushing moved out of the way of the growing erection.

"What's that?" The man spoke as he removed his shirt. A faint trace of a Scottish accent.

"This is Cushing. He's a Chameleon." As if to illustrate the point Cushing turned blue, red and green in rapid succession, before deciding on orange.

"That's very impressive." The man smiled. Relaxing slightly.

"He is rather." Mycroft agreed. The man sat on the edge of the bed, grasping Mycroft's erection gently.

"I wasn't talking about the Lizard. My name's David."

"Hello David. My name is Mycroft Holmes. I'm very pleased to meet you." Mycroft pulled David on top of him. He did enjoy these relaxing afternoons. Preoccupied as he was with the wiry charms of his latest knob for hire, Mycroft failed to observe the jealous glare of the Chameleon.


	63. Chapter 63

Cushing slinked across the dressing table, gradually turning mahogany as he went. Mycroft was preoccupied with the scrawny human who was in his bed. Cushing thought this most unfair. After all, the scrawny human couldn't change colour to match, say, Mycroft's favourite overcoat. And the scrawny human would never love Mycroft the way he did. Cushing was sure Mycroft liked him, quite sure, but he wasn't entirely sure that was the same thing.

Mycroft obviously liked the scrawny human as well. Cushing experimentally turned himself a pale colour and tried to emulate the scrawny human's hair. He looked in the mirror. Nope. Not a good look. From the bed Mycroft laughed. And smiled. At something Scrawny had just whispered in his ear. Cushing turned an unattractive maroon colour and went and sat on the radiator.

There was a great deal of noise and some enthusiastic boinging of bedsprings and then Mycroft rolled over and reached for the biscuits. He offered one to Scrawny. Cushing, from his radiator vantage point saw this. The lizard's eyes narrowed, or at least swivelled in an attempt to narrow. Those were his and Mycroft's special biscuits. That would not do at all.

Xx

"The Second one in three days?" Sherlock peered at Molly's report.

"Yes. How do you know that?" Molly waited for the sneering explanation.

"Your Rat sent Huggins an email." Sherlock spoke without looking up from the report. Molly glanced over to where Rathbone's cage was. The rat was doing a good job of trying to hide under a pile of sawdust.

"Rathbone!" Molly said disapprovingly. Rathbone buried himself further, until only the tip of his pink tail was sticking out. "Come out of there at once."

Reluctantly the rat wriggled out and then sat looking nervously at his paws. Sherlock gave the rat a nod.

"It seems your rat smells...well something that isn't a rat I suppose." There was an agitated squeaking from the pocket of Sherlock's jacket. "Yes, I was just coming to that. Have you got a lab analysis of the Jaffa Cakes?"

"Yes, actually. They aren't the standard recipe. The ingredients seem to be much higher quality. They're also bigger than a normal Jaffa cake."

"Interesting!" Sherlock was having a hard time adjusting to the fact Molly was no longer swooning and dropping things in his presence. Tony LeStrade must be good.

"I've narrowed it down to an exclusive Bakers and Confectioners in Piccadilly, but they also supply to Fortnum & Mason and Harrods."

"hmm. Bespoke jaffa Cakes? What else. I need data. Let's see..." Sherlock flicked through the papers and reports, moving his hands about, conducting the music of his mind palace. "Hmm, white males, mid to late twenties. Slim. Tall. Dark hair. Recently sodomised. But no DNA trace?"

"No. All except for this." Molly held up a slide and placed it on the microscope for Sherlock to look at.

"Is that a..."

"Yes. It's a pube."

"Ew...and it's ginger! Always reminds me of Mycroft. I hate my job sometimes." Huggins squeaked his agreement from the pocket.

"Actually Sherlock, it's not your job, it's mine." Molly's phone beeped as a punctuation of that statement. "It's Tony. I'm meeting him for coffee. Don't mess about with anything."

Sherlock stood alone in the lab for a moment, stunned. Rathbone rattled the bars of his cage and looked hopefully up at Sherlock. Huggins poked his nose out of the pocket and squeaked something to the forlorn looking rat. Rathbone squeaked back, a low, silky sound. If the rat could sing, he'd sing baritone. Huggins looked thoughtful for a moment before retreating into Sherlock's pocket where there was the distinctive sounds of hamster typing on Smartphone.

Sherlock extracted both phone and hamster and looked from one to the other.

"Oh!" He said finally. "Oh that's a lot not good!"


End file.
